A Sense of Self
by littlegreenbottle
Summary: As the daughter of a diplomat, Emily spent her childhood pretending to be someone she wasn't. She honed this skill as an undercover agent in the FBI. After her transfer to the BAU, she can just be herself. The problem? She's not sure who she is anymore.
1. 2006:  Quantico, VA

This story was nominated for **Best Angst** for the Profiler's Choice Awards. It blows my mind to get to say something like that about one of my stories, especially when I see the awesome stories that are in that category and to be put in that group is really an honor. Thank you to all who nominated this story. For more information on the voting go to .net/topic/74868/51253709/1/.

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><p>AN: General warnings and disclosures for the story: This story contains potential spoilers for any of the episodes that have already aired from the time that Emily joined the team in Season 2 up until her departure in Season 6. Anything mentioned in the episodes in relation to Emily's present and past is fair game. There will be some profanity. There will be references to sex (het & femslash), but nothing graphic.

A/N2: Thanks to _**kdzl**_ for the beta and encouragement.

**2006 – Quantico, VA**

"I don't know about you, but if I have to look at or think about another policy or procedure, I think the right side of my brain is going to shrivel up," JJ announced, leaning away from the desk. Emily didn't understand why it fell to the unit's media liaison to orient her before her first day, but never-the-less that was who had been walking her through the BAU's protocol for the last four hours.

Emily looked sheepishly at her papers and felt her cheeks flushing.

She realized that JJ had noticed her reaction when she assured her, "You know that I don't blame you for this brain-shriveling drivel, right?"

Emily looked up and gave a small, hopefully convincing, nod. It was a beautifully sunny and unseasonably warm Saturday morning, and JJ had been clearly working overtime to get her ready for her first day. It was just another reminder for Emily that this transfer had not gone as planned. She wondered how much everyone on the team actually knew about it.

"How about I show you the best place to eat lunch outside in all of Quantico?" JJ offered. "There's a cute little place about a mile away."

Emily nodded again. "Would you mind walking?" she asked, realizing that her legs had been in the same bent position for the last four hours.

JJ shook her head. "Not at all. I'd love to stretch my legs _and _stretch our time outside. But maybe we could bring along one of the books, so that we're not here until the wee hours of the night."

"It's a plan," Emily said, offering a small smile.

.oOo.

"So, Agent Jareau, what do you recommend?" Emily asked, glancing at the menu.

"First off, I recommend that you call me JJ." She gave Emily the same bright, reassuring smile as before. "I would prefer if you call me JJ both in the office and out, but if you'd prefer, we can just start with out."

"All right, JJ," Emily agreed. "Then you can call me Emily."

"Oh, don't worry," JJ assured her. "I was planning on it."

"But to answer your question, the roasted beet salad is a work of visual and gustatory art," JJ added, looking down at her menu.

Emily couldn't help but laugh at JJ's tone of reverence.

"No really, it is," JJ insisted. "And their homemade bread is great. If today is rosemary olive oil bread, I'd recommend getting anything that would get you some of that. I've never had the carrot soup, but Garcia raves about it constantly. Pretty much anything that mentions pesto is guaranteed to be delicious."

JJ paused as though she was reconsidering her recommendation. "On second thought, we're going to be back trapped in a tiny room in about an hour and a half and their pesto has a lot of garlic."

"Say no more," Emily said. "Either we both get it or neither of us does." She was starting to feel a little more relaxed with JJ, but didn't want to let her guard down given all the uncertainty about her official start with the team.

Emily saw their waiter on his way over and quickly scanned the menu before she made her final decision.

"I'll have the BLAT sandwich," JJ said. "On the whole wheat French bread. And with sweet potato chips on the side."

"And I'll have the beet salad," Emily told him. The waiter listed off the bread options.

"With the lavender sourdough," she decided, disappointed that it was not rosemary olive oil day.

"So after all the build up for the beet salad you go for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich?" Emily asked.

JJ nodded. "First off, it's bacon, lettuce, _avocado_, and tomato. Not to mention the fact that it is a masterful combination of sweet, savory, and salty."

"And besides," she added with a shrug, "I figured you would get the beet salad and give me a bite."

Emily was taken aback by JJ's immediate comfort with her. They'd known each other for all of half of a day and JJ was already insisting on nicknames and sharing food. Emily actually wasn't sure how to respond to these overtures; it had been a while since she had made any new friends that weren't part of an assignment. Emily felt woefully out of practice and nervous because she knew there was a lot, both professionally and personally, on the line.

"So, tell me a little bit more about yourself," JJ said, leaning forward. "Usually I get a new agent's file before orientation, but I've gotten zilch on you so far."

Emily's cheeks reddened as she thought back to her encounter with Agent Hotchner last week. Needless to say, her first day at the BAU had not gone as expected.

"_There's definitely been a mistake. I didn't approve this transfer, Agent Prentiss. I'm sorry for the confusion, but you've been misinformed."_

In the span of ten seconds, Agent Hotchner managed to negate all of Emily's hard work in favor of a paperwork error and didn't even stop consider the possibility that she was qualified for the position. What actually hurt more than the implication that she hadn't earned her spot on the team was the implication that she was some debutante flitting around the FBI, trying out the BAU _on a whirl_.

She wondered if the other members of the team knew the details of her transfer. Perhaps they were all thinking that her mother pulled the right strings for her. Which she hadn't, by the way. Or maybe they were thinking that Emily hadn't taken the right profiler classes and gone through the training. Which she had. She knew for certain that they didn't know about her prior postings, which was just as well, but would have provided additional proof that she had the training and experience to be at the BAU. Emily knew that she belonged in the BAU and if she had to work ten times harder than everyone else just to prove it to them, she was prepared to do that.

Emily started to worry that this lunch was JJ's way of trying to get the dirt on her. Perhaps Hotch had set JJ up to report back on any information obtained about her. Her worry started to grow into disappointment as she considered that possibly this whole lunch was a set up and JJ's overtures of kindness were merely part of a ploy to determine Emily's true intentions and reasons for being on the team.

On the other hand, JJ's smiles were sincere and Emily saw no evidence to confirm that JJ's intentions were anything other than just to find out more about her. Emily's usual doubt about being worthy of getting to know crept into her thoughts before she was even aware of it. Emily picked at her nails, all of her worries and insecurities rising to the surface with that single question. And to make things worse she could almost hear her mother's voice nagging her to stop picking her nails.

"Emily?" She suddenly snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at JJ.

"I wasn't expecting you to compose a five hundred word essay to recite to me. I just wanted to know more about you." There was that reassuring smile again.

"Of course," Emily shook her head slightly, trying to convince herself that this was actually a normal question during one of these casual professional lunches and that there was probably nothing sinister behind JJ's question. "I, uh, well, I was transferred here from St. Louis, where I learned that I hate the Midwest. My favorite color is red and I love socks. Sometimes I choose my entire outfit based on the socks I want to wear that day." She pulled up her pant leg to reveal the red plaid socks she'd chosen that morning. JJ nodded her approval and admitted she had a similar penchant for shoes.

Emily had answered the question in her standard fashion: offer up some professional information and a bit of personal, but not too personal, information and most people feel like you've bared your entire soul. She was hoping those answers would stave off any further questions. And to ensure that, Emily asked one of her own.

"How long have you been at the BAU?" By asking JJ about work, she was almost guaranteed that the next reciprocated question would also be work-related. Hopefully there would be enough work-related questions to fill the time until their food arrived. The feeling of being hopeful about a potential friendship was still overshadowed by the fear that this was all about getting information that could one day be used against her.

Emily was all too familiar with that process.

"Well, I've been at the BAU for just under two years, but it feels like twenty," JJ told her. "But in a good way," she quickly added.

"My assignment after the academy was at the field office in El Paso, Texas, and I was there for two and a half years before coming to the BAU."

Emily raised her eyebrows at hearing this. "Wow, El Paso. That must have been…" Emily let the sentence drift off realizing that just because being stationed in western Texas would be her own personal hell didn't mean JJ felt the same way.

"If you were thinking hot, horrible, and pretty much any rookie agent's nightmare, then yes it was," JJ said. "I was actually worried that I'd royally messed up at the academy and they were punishing me for something I didn't know I had done.

"I did the media relations for all of the units there. I was told it was a compliment to my skills that I had been assigned there given how complicated it is with all of the immigration and drug trafficking that goes on down there.

"But really I think they told me that so that I wouldn't step in front of a pick-up truck," JJ confided. "I was thrilled to be transferred to the BAU for so many reasons."

"So, Emily, where was your first assignment?" JJ asked.

Emily hesitated before saying, "New York." By this point she was convinced that JJ had to think she was rather daft. Emily silently cursed herself for hesitating; she'd given this answer often enough that it should just be rote. Her first real assignment was in Boston, but her official cover assignment at the time was the New York field office. And when she was nervous she tended to confuse the two.

The waiter arrived with their food and pulled Emily out of her head before she went too deep. Both women were silent as they started in on their meals.

"What was your first assignment?" JJ asked.

"I worked in linguistics doing translating and such. Mostly counter-terrorism, some organized crime." Emily told her. "But when I was in Chicago and St. Louis, it was mostly for white collar and organized crime."

"Translating. Really? What languages do you speak?" JJ asked.

"I did mostly Arabic translations. Sometimes Turkish," Emily realized that she was eventually going to be asked about how she learned those languages. She shrugged to herself, deciding it didn't matter since Agent Hotchner already knew of her mother's position. It's not as though telling JJ would provide additional ammunition against her.

"My mother is an Ambassador and so I spent a lot of time overseas growing up," Emily explained before JJ had the opportunity to ask. Again, Emily controlled the information flow.

"You're right, by the way, the beet salad is amazing. I never would have thought about bleu cheese and beets together, but this is great." Emily put a little of everything onto her bread plate and passed it across the table to JJ. "And there's just a hint of anise in the dressing."

"Where did you live?" JJ was not to be distracted by proffered food, though she accepted it without hesitation. While she was waiting for Emily to answer, she cut off a corner of her sandwich and placed it on her bread plate along with some of the sweet potato chips and offered it to Emily.

"I lived in Egypt the longest," Emily told her, pausing to think about it. "My mom's first posting after I was born was in Bulgaria. Then Turkey, Egypt, Syria, and Italy. But I finished up high school in the States."

"Wow." JJ's widened eyes were typical of the reaction Emily got when she talked about her upbringing. "That must have been an amazing way to grow up."

"It had its benefits," Emily told her. It also had its drawbacks, which in Emily's opinion far out-weighed the benefits, but JJ didn't need to know that. "After all, speaking Arabic kept me from being assigned to El Paso."

"I knew I shouldn't have listened to my mom when she encouraged me to take Spanish," JJ joked.

The two women continued their conversation as they finished lunch. After they paid the check, JJ stood from the table and excused herself to the restroom.

"Too much iced tea," she said apologetically.

Once she was gone from the table, Emily pulled out her pen and notebook that she carried with her everywhere. She opened to the first blank page and wrote,

_11/18/06_

_Lunch w/ JJ – fave color red, like socks! Worked in St. Louis, Chicago, and Boston. Speak Arabic & Turkish. Didn't mention Belgium. Beet salad – delicious. Played lacrosse and field hockey in high school._

She finished jotting down her notes just as JJ was returning to the table. She put the notebook back into her bag and stood up to leave. The walk back was a bit slower as both women wanted to put off the inevitable tedious banality that awaited them.

They never did look at the protocol book they'd brought with them at lunch, so there was a bit of catch-up to do. The afternoon was considerably more tolerable than the morning's session had been as they continued getting acquainted.

"If I promise to review these manuals at home, can we stop for the day?" Emily asked, seeing that it was already getting close to six. She had an hour's drive back home and was starting to crave some alone time. She couldn't remember talking this much with anyone, let alone sharing so much of her personal life in the span of a few hours. The feelings of being overwhelmed and anxious had transferred from being about her new position in the BAU to being about her new position in JJ's life. Or more accurately, JJ's new position in hers.

"There will be a pop quiz on Monday then," JJ told her. "We can meet back in my office at eight? Provided nothing major comes up, we should get through things pretty quickly on Monday and you can rest up for your big day on Tuesday."

At the mention of Tuesday, Emily's eyes widened a bit and she sucked in her breath. JJ leaned across the desk and put her hands over Emily's.

"I'm not going to waste my breath telling you to not be nervous, but I just want you to know that we're all excited to have you on the team. It's an interesting mix of personalities, but it works. I have a feeling you're going to fit right in," JJ assured her. "Besides, I'm sure Reid is going wet his pants when he finds out you know every episode of _The Twilight Zone_. Just make sure you have a few hours to spare when you share that information."

Emily smiled. JJ's reassurances had the surprising effect of actually making her feel reassured. The pit of anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in Emily's stomach seemed to shrink and for the first time in a week, Emily felt better about joining the team. She allowed herself to feel the same excitement she'd felt when she was told about the transfer. Emily was fairly certain that anxiety would be back to reclaim its stake and push excitement out of the way, but she decided to enjoy the time until that happened.

"Thanks, JJ. I needed to hear that," she admitted.

"Well, I'm happy to say it again whenever you need to hear it again," JJ assured her. "Let's get out of here."

They walked out to the garage together but had parked on separate floors so they parted ways at the staircase. Emily climbed into her car and before starting the ignition pulled out her notebook and added,

_Like Twilight Zone. Don't eat zucchini. Like to cook, especially Italian. Prefer beer to wine, unless it's a Petite Syrah_. _Favorite vacation was to Venezuela - Angel Falls._

It was an old habit that Emily had started during her first undercover job. She'd write down the small details that she'd shared with her mark so she could review them and keep track of who she was. The key to a good cover was to lie about the big stuff, but include enough small details that were true. Part of the problem she'd been having on her last few assignments was that she was beginning to forget which details of her life were true and which had been invented.

Emily realized it was probably ridiculous to be keeping track of these things now when she was no longer undercover. She wasn't Bianca Moretti, Katherine Pennington, Lauren Reynolds, or Caroline Prentiss. She was Emily Prentiss being Emily Prentiss.

The problem was that after all these years she was no longer sure who Emily Prentiss really was.


	2. 1975: Sofia, Bulgaria

A/N: Another big thanks to _**kdzl**_ and _**kriziag **_for the beta and encouragement. And thanks to all the readers, reviewers, and story alerters.

A/N 2: This chapter contains some phrases and words in Bulgarian (thank you, Google translator). There's a glossary at the bottom. I also tried to make it contextually apparent what is being said. As there will be future chapters with the same style of using foreign words and phrases, please let me know if there's something I can do to make it more clear. I feel that it is important to the telling of the story to not have all the characters speaking English. Also, I apologize for any errors in Bulgarian - I used a combination of Google translator and online Cyrillic transliterators, so there's a high likelihood of a mistake.

Please see Chapter 1 for general warnings.

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><p><strong>1975 – Sofia, Bulgaria<strong>

Even though it was long past her bedtime, Emily was still wide awake. Her stomach hurt, but that wasn't what was keeping her awake. Despite ending with a stomachache, it had otherwise been such a great day that she didn't want to sleep because then it would be over. Her father had picked her up from school and she had gotten to spend the entire afternoon with him. When she saw him among the other parents when she walked out of school her face broke into a smile and she ran over to him. He scooped her into his arms and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

"Father! You're back early!" she exclaimed. She noticed something was different about him. She reached her hand out to touch his cheek.

"What happened to your face?" she asked. A stern look from her father told her that was not the right question to ask. She pulled her hand back before it had connected with the curly black hairs.

"I'm sorry, Father," she apologized, her heart sinking with the knowledge that she had already angered him.

He had been away on a business trip for the last two weeks and wasn't supposed to be home for another week. He lowered Emily to the ground and she briefly worried that she'd angered him enough that he was going to leave her at school.

Suddenly he bent down and smiled and took her hands and placed them on his cheeks. "It's a beard. Do you like it?"

Emily nodded enthusiastically. "Has mother seen you?"

Her father chuckled and shook his head. "I was thinking that if I bribe you with ice cream and a trip to the zoo, you'll help me out when I have to face her this evening."

"Oh, yes, Father, I can do it!" she squealed with excitement. Not only did she get to spend the afternoon with her father, but she was going to the zoo and going to have ice cream. And he needed her help.

Charles Prentiss worked for a multi-national medical equipment company that was just starting its expansion into Europe, which meant he was frequently away on business trips to ensure that operations were running smoothly. Even when he was home, Emily's father worked long hours and her time with him was generally limited to just a few minutes a day. The last time she had gotten to spend a whole day with him was shortly after they'd moved to Bulgaria. He had taken her to the Borisova Garden to see the Mound of Brotherhood. One of her favorite things in Washington, D.C. was the Washington Monument and she was thrilled to discover that her new home had its own obelisk.

Emily thought that maybe the Mound of Brotherhood could talk to the Washington Monument and help her. She passed the obelisk almost every day on her way to and from school and her wish was always the same: on her way to school Emily wished for a new friend at school and on her way home, she wished that one of her parents would be home to eat dinner with her.

Emily held on to her father's index finger and as they walked to the zoo, she couldn't help skipping every so often. As they passed by the Mound of Brotherhood, she paused briefly and closed her eyes, sending a secret thanks to her obelisk for finally granting her wish.

.oOo.

Emily was still smiling when she and her father got home. She had a great time looking at all of the animals and not only did she get ice cream, but her dad bought her kifla and ponichki from the food stands. She could still taste the remnants the powdered sugar on her lips, extending the sweetness of the afternoon a little longer.

Emily's mother was already in the sitting room when she and her father got home.

"Really, Charles? A beard?" she said, not hiding her displeasure. "And what is that white stuff around Emily's mouth?"

"We got ponichki! And then we saw the hippos and zebras. And ice cream. I got strawberry, but Father got chocolate," Emily told her mother excitedly.

"And I think Father looks handsome with the beard," she added, remembering to live up to her side of the deal.

"You know better than to eat so late in the afternoon," Elizabeth looked at her husband and daughter with equal disapproval. "How is Miss Anna going to feel when she finds out you won't be eating the dinner she has spent all afternoon making?"

Emily hadn't thought about that. She looked up at her father who winked at her.

"Mother, I didn't have very much ponichki or ice cream. I'm still hungry for dinner," she lied, trying to appease everyone.

"Well, then, go upstairs and get washed up. Dinner will be in thirty minutes," her mother told her sternly.

Emily nodded and turned to her father, who picked her up again. She put her hands on his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him on the nose.

"Thank you, Father, I had so so much fun today," she whispered. "I love you."

"I'm glad you had fun, Em," her father said as he lowered her to the ground. "Now run upstairs, I'm sure Miss Katya is waiting for you," he told her.

.oOo.

When Emily came downstairs for dinner, she walked into kitchen, but was confused when she didn't see a place setting for her at the table.

"Not in here tonight, bonbonche," Anna told her, using her usual nickname for Emily. "Your mama and tatko are eating in the dining room."

Emily practically skipped through the door to the formal dining room and to her delight there were three place settings. What a great day this was turning out to be. Not only did she get to go to the zoo with her father, but she also got to eat dinner with both her parents. More often than not, Emily ate in the kitchen with her nanny or the cook because her parents were either at business dinners or staying late at the office.

Once they'd all sat down to start eating, Emily couldn't wait to share more of her stories of her trip to the zoo with her mother.

"Mother, what does the hippopotamus get from lifting weights?" she asked, already giggling at the punch line.

"Hippopotamuscles!" Her father had told her that joke while they were at the zoo. Her mom looked up from her plate and gave her a half-hearted smile. Emily thought maybe her mother would find the next joke funnier.

"And what did the lion say when the zebra…"

"Emily, no more jokes at the dinner table. It's clearly distracting you from eating," her mother reprimanded, pointing to Emily's almost full plate. "Your food is going to get cold."

Emily had been pushing her chicken, carrots, and potatoes around the plate, trying to make it look like she was eating her dinner. She was still full from her afternoon snacks, but worried that if she didn't eat her dinner, her mother would be angry. Then her father would be angry with her, too, because her mother was angry with him. If she made them angry, they wouldn't want to eat dinner with her again. So she apologized before taking a large forkful of food, trying to keep the peace at the dinner table.

The rest of dinner passed in near silence, and through sheer willpower alone, Emily managed to finish enough of the food on her plate to satisfy her mother. Her parents started talking about business things and Emily was starting to feel sick from eating so much, so she excused herself from the table and went upstairs to play in her room. She wanted to draw all the animals she saw with her father before she forgot them. As she was putting the finishing touches on the camel, Katya came into her room to check on her.

"Did you have a good day at the zoo, mila?"

"Oh yes," Emily breathed. "We saw all the animals and Father was so funny when he told me all about them. See, here's the camel. Did you know that some camels have two bumps? We only saw one-bump camels."

Katya nodded, though Emily was barely paying attention as she continued to tell her about her afternoon. She held up the picture of the mama elephant and baby elephant she drew.

"Do you know why elephants have trunks?" Emily asked. She kept her voice even and serious, as though she were asking a scientific question.

Katya shook her head. "Perhaps for drinking water?"

"Because they'd look silly carrying a suitcase!" Emily was extraordinarily pleased with herself for not laughing before she got to the punch line. Once Katya started laughing, Emily could no longer hold in her giggles.

"I'm glad you had fun," Katya said, still laughing. "Five minutes until bath time, ok?"

"Miss Katya, I'm really tired. I don't want to take a bath." Katya looked at her charge, who had never made such a request before.

"I don't think skipping one night will be so bad," she said. "Are you feeling ok?"

Emily slid her hand over her stomach, which was starting to hurt even more. She shook her head and whispered, "My tummy hurts."

Tears came to her eyes as she made the admission and realized that Katya would probably tell her mother and then she would get in trouble and her father would be mad at her.

"Please don't tell," she begged.

"Why don't you want me to tell your parents?" Katya asked her, signaling for Emily to come sit in her lap.

Once Emily was comfortable in Katya's lap, she whispered, "Mother will be mad that Father fed me ice cream and ponichki at the zoo and I ate so many I couldn't eat dinner, which would make Miss Anna sad because she cooked for me."

Emily paused and looked up at Katya, whose concerned and caring face made Emily feel better about sharing her secret.

"So I ate all my dinner because if Mother gets mad at Father then Father will be mad at me and never take me to the zoo again. But now my tummy's too full."

"Oh, mila, I don't think you need to worry about your parents being angry with you," Katya said, rubbing Emily's back. "I'm sure that wouldn't happen."

Emily didn't say anything because she didn't want to disagree with Katya. She just closed her eyes and relaxed into Katya's embrace.

"Ok, mila," Katya said picking Emily up as she stood up. "Let's get your teeth brushed and get you into bed and I'll read you a story before you sleep."

Having a bedtime story read to her was a treat. Emily's mother had insisted since Emily started school that either Emily read the story out loud or to herself. It was only on rare occasions that Katya broke that rule and read to Emily.

Even with two stories, Emily was still wide awake when Katya gave her a goodnight kiss. She wanted to replay her afternoon with her father one more time in her head. Eventually Emily drifted off to sleep, hoping to dream about the zoo animals.

.oOo.

It was time to practice letters and numbers and Emily's whole kindergarten class was sitting in a circle. Emily had woken up to find that her stomach still hurt, but she was still worried about her parents being angry with her so she didn't tell anyone about it as she got ready for school. As the students went around the circle saying words that had the letter "Д" in it, Emily's stomach started to hurt worse and she was worried that she might get sick.

To distract herself, she started thinking up more words, "Добре, Девет, Десет, Далече…" It didn't work and Emily was starting to have the uneasy feeling in her chest that usually happened right before throwing up. Emily quickly raised her hand and the teacher called on her. Emily's mouth opened, but no words came out as she suddenly forgot how to ask permission to go to the bathroom in Bulgarian.

"May I be excused to the bathroom?" Emily asked even though she knew she wasn't supposed to speak in English in school. Unlike most children of diplomats, Emily was enrolled in public school, rather than a private American school. At the beginning of the school year, the other students teased her in Bulgarian, knowing she didn't understand them. They targeted her less once she'd learned the language, but they still found ways to tease her about her accent and mispronunciations.

The other students started laughing at her English and before Emily could stop it, she threw up all over herself, the carpet, and even got some on Ivan, who was sitting next to her. The laughter got louder and was punctuated by shrieks of disgust.

Ivan punched her in the arm and shouted at her, "Mirishesh na bokluk!"

Emily stayed rooted to her spot on the carpet and burst into tears. The teacher frantically tried to quiet down the other students, take care of Ivan, and help Emily get to the principal's office. One of the older children in the class next door escorted Emily to the principal's office and she could feel the vomit running down her legs and squishing in her shoes as she walked.

Emily sat in the principal's office, crying while she waited for someone to come pick her up. Between the humiliation of throwing up on herself and being covered in vomit and of being punched by Ivan and told she smelled like garbage and her fear of what her mother and father would do when they found out, Emily couldn't stop crying.

"It's okay, mila," Katya said when she arrived at the school to get Emily. She picked her up and took her into her arms. "Let's get you home and into bed."

.oOo.

Once she was home, bathed, and in her bed, Emily was already feeling better. Anna and Katya bustled around getting her tea and crackers and checking on her often. After she woke up from her nap, Emily spent the afternoon finishing her zoo drawings as a way to avoid thinking about her parents and school and how much trouble she was in. When she finished the drawings, Katya helped her put them together as a book held together with yarn.

As soon as she saw her mother enter her room, Emily knew she was in trouble. Her mother was still carrying her briefcase so Emily knew that she'd gone up to her room first thing after getting home. There have only been two other times that had happened – once when Emily had overflowed the toilet trying to use it as a washing machine for her doll clothes and the other when she'd gotten into her mother's make-up.

"Hello, Mother," Emily said, her eyes filling with tears before she could help it. She looked down at her lap, trying to hide her tears from her mother, who often told Emily she cried too easily.

_Never let someone know how much something means to you; it makes you vulnerable and powerless, and gives them the advantage. You must learn to hide your emotions where other people can't find them._

Her mother had told her that when she came home crying from school at the beginning of the year when she was teased mercilessly at school for being an American. Not wanting to disappoint her mother, since then Emily had made every effort to not cry in front of her.

Elizabeth went over to Emily's bed and sat beside her. She put her hand on Emily's forehead and Emily leaned in to her mother's touch. Maybe her mother wasn't mad after all; maybe she hurried so quickly to Emily's room because she was worried.

"No fever," Elizabeth announced, moving her hand away. "Are you still feeling sick?"

Emily looked up at her mother and from the expression on her face, it was clear which answer she both wanted and expected Emily to say. She'd only thrown up the one time at school, but her stomach was still upset. Some of that queasiness came from Emily being scared to go back to school, knowing that the teasing would start all over again.

Emily shook her head. "No, Mother, I'm feeling much better," she said, providing her with the desired answer.

"Miss Katya said you weren't feeling good last night because you ate dinner after having too many snacks while you were out with your father in the afternoon," her mother told her.

Emily swallowed hard. Now she was really in trouble.

"But it wasn't father's fault. I went back and got an extra ponichki while he was looking in the other direction. Father didn't know how many snacks I had."

Emily saw the anger and disappointment on her mother's face. Her only hope was that the anger and disappointment was directed only at her and not her father. She couldn't bear it if he was mad at her, too.

"Well, I hope you've learned your lesson," the Ambassador told her. "You will not be staying home from school tomorrow."

"I have, Mother. And I'm sorry," Emily said, her words trailing off as her mother turned around and walked out of her room.

Emily pulled out her zoo-book and started flipping through the pages, trying to feel the excitement she felt yesterday afternoon. The tears that had gathered during her conversation with her mother made their way down her cheeks before she could stop them. She wiped her eyes quickly when she heard her door opening.

"Father!" Emily exclaimed excitedly. She couldn't remember the last time her father had come into her room.

"I made a book! With all the animals we saw! And Miss Katya helped me write down some of the jokes. Do you want to hear another one she taught me? It's a knock-knock joke!" Emily had been waiting all afternoon to share the joke with her father.

"Maybe another time, Em, I've got a phone conference with our office in Pasadena in about five minutes," Her father told her, as he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.

Emily nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. "Where did your beard go?" she asked, suddenly noticing that it was gone.

"I guess we weren't convincing enough," her father said, with a small smile.

"I'm sorry, Father," Emily said softly. She had failed him.

Her father shook his head. "We gave it our level best. And besides, it was starting to itch. How are you feeling? Sounds like we overdid it a bit yesterday, huh."

"I'm feeling better. Do you want to see my book?" Emily asked hopefully as she handed it over to him.

He looked at his watch and waved his hand dismissively. "Later, Em. Right now Pasadena is waiting for me. But I'm glad you're feeling better." He leaned in and gave her another kiss before turning and leaving her room.

Emily never got the opportunity to share her book with her father because a few weeks later Ivan found her looking through the book during quiet time. He grabbed the book from her hands.

"Sega knigata vi mirishe na bokluk, sashto taka," he taunted as he tore the book in half and threw it into the garbage can.

Emily balled up her fists and fought against the tears that threatened to make an appearance.

"Vie mozhete da go imate! To beshe glupava kniga kakto i da e," Emily told him defiantly, remembering her mother's advice, _never let someone know how much something means to you._

She would not show weakness in front of Ivan. Ever since the day she threw up in class Ivan and his friends had been merciless in their teasing. Crying over her book would only give them another reason to make fun of her. Despite the fact that she carried the nickname _balvoch-dah_ for the remainder of her time in Bulgaria, never once did the other students succeed in making her cry.

* * *

><p><em>Bonbonche<em>: sweetie

_Mila_: honey (a common term of endearment for children)

_Ponichki_: a sweet Bulgarian pastry (much like a donut)

_Mirishesh na bokluk_: You stink like garbage!

_Sega knigata vi mirishe na bokluk, sashto taka_: Now your book stinks like garbage.

_Vie mozhete da go imate! To beshe glupava kniga kakto i da e_: You can have it! It was a stupid book anyway.

_Balvoch-Dah_: vomit-breath

Добре, Девет, Десет, Далече: good, nine, ten, far


	3. 2006: Washington, DC

A/N: Thanks to **_kdzl _**and _**kriziag** _for their input

A/N 2: And a huge thanks to all my readers, reviewers, and alerters!

Please see Chapter 1 for general warnings.

**2006 – Washington, D.C.**

It was an anti-climatic ending to her first case with the BAU: a subdued plane ride home and quick good-byes in the parking garage as Emily walked over to her car and Gideon and Reid walked to theirs. It's not as though she expected high fives and pats on the back, but it felt strange being so far removed from the rest of the team during their thwart of the anthrax attack. She arrived home just past three in the morning, long after the rest of the team had gone to bed. She left her unopened go-bag in the front hall closet and hurried upstairs so she could take off the suit she had been wearing for the last seventy-two hours straight.

She looked out her bedroom window at the view that had made her fall in love with her condo. Of course the updated kitchen, chic layout, and large master bathroom had helped, but it was the view that had clinched the deal. She stood naked looking at the lights of the national mall and was grateful to her realtor who had suggested installing the shades that lower from the top down. The Washington Monument had always fascinated her and she smiled at the memory of learning the word _obelisk_ when she was three years old. She loved the way the word felt on her tongue and she said it over and over again, much to the annoyance of her parents.

She smiled as she thought about the day her father took her to see the Mound of Brotherhood in Sofia shortly after her mother started her post there. She had actually believed that her father had brought the Washington Monument to Sofia for her.

Emily wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at her bed; she was exhausted, but her mind was far too active to consider sleeping.

_We'll make nice later_.

Thank goodness JJ had gone through everyone on the team during her orientation, otherwise the only other person Emily would have known was Morgan who was able to get in his handshake before Hotch's interruption.

_Class, this is Emily Prentiss. Her family just moved here from the United States. So let's all make nice and make her feel welcome._

They didn't. Her classmates taunted her in Bulgarian, knowing she didn't understand them. When she finally understood their taunts, they switched to trying to trick her. When she figured out their tricks, they pinched her, tripped her, and ripped her drawings. She tried as hard as she could to hide how much their teasing bothered her, but all that did was make them try harder. No matter what she did, no matter how she tried to change, it never mattered.

_We'll make nice later._

Would they? Surely a team of adult FBI profilers would be nicer than Bulgarian kindergarteners. Or maybe they all thought was the privileged daughter of an Ambassador who had played her political cards right to win a position she hadn't earned.

Emily shook her head, almost as though she would be able to shake the memories of kindergarten from her head. She would not let those doubts affect her. She wasn't about to give Ivan the satisfaction of still breaking her confidence three decades later. Despite her rocky start with the team, somewhere deep in her heart she knew that this move was going to be different. She _needed_ this move to be different.

Emily had lived in D.C. on-and-off growing up; anytime her mother was between postings, they returned to the family home in Arlington. Washington, D.C. was as close to a stable home as she had as a child, which wasn't saying much. For much of her childhood, she had seen Washington D.C. as the magical place where she would fit in, have friends, and blend in with everyone else. Emily had always found it funny that Washington D.C. never actually felt like home until high school, and by then she had already stopped caring. Or maybe it was just that she had finally convinced herself that she no longer cared.

As she stood in her bedroom, she wondered if in fact the opposite were true now. Maybe she wanted so badly to feel at home, that she had convinced herself this was the place. Her role in solving the case had offered her a glimmer of hope. This could be where she belonged.

She sighed and shook her head at her reflection; the additional irony that it was her fluency in Arabic that allowed her to play such a key role in the solving of the case was not lost on her. Emily had spent the first few months after they had moved to Egypt refusing to learn Arabic. She was eight years old and already spoke English, French, Bulgarian, and Turkish. Emily just couldn't see the point of learning Arabic if she was just going to move in a year and have to learn a whole new language.

It was a three-month-long battle of wills during which Emily never wavered even when her mother forced her to go to private Arabic lessons and only permitted her nanny to speak Arabic to her. Eventually Emily's books were replaced by Arabic texts and she wasn't allowed to watch the English-language channel on TV. It was still the summer holiday and there weren't a lot of kids Emily's age around. After a month of moping around with nothing to do and no one to talk to, she finally relented. When she began private Arabic lessons, much to her horror, she discovered that she had picked up quite a bit of the language despite all efforts to the contrary. To add insult to injury, she even ended up earning top honors in speaking and reading Arabic at the International School.

Her maudlin reminiscing was interrupted by a yawn that seemed to erupt from her toes. The yawn spread up her body almost as though it was trying to push those thoughts out of her mind. She turned and looked at her bed and decided that showering, eating, and thinking could wait. Emily took her cell phone out of her bag and set it on the nightstand.

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face when she saw she'd gotten a text from JJ. Her smile got wider when she clicked on the message. _You go girl! Way to knock it out of the park your first time at bat! See you Monday, J._

It was the sort of message that a friend, not just a co-worker, would send. Emily felt a flutter of excitement when she thought about a potential friendship with JJ. She couldn't help the feeling of trepidation that immediately followed the excitement; she was still wary of getting too close to anyone in the BAU. Another yawn interrupted her internal debate and seemed to turn off the whirl of thoughts in her mind. She slid between her sheets and was asleep within moments.


	4. 1978: Cairo, Egypt

A/N: Thanks to _**kriziag **_and _**kdzl**_for the beta and suggestions.

A/N 2: This chapter contains some phrases and words in French and Arabic (thank you, Google translator). I have included a glossary a the bottom. I also tried to make it somewhat apparent what is being said. As there will be future chapters with the same style of using foreign words and phrases, please let me know if there's something I can do to make it more clear. I feel that it is important to the telling of this story to not have all the characters speaking English. Also, I apologize for any errors in either French or Arabic, especially Arabic because I had to use a combination of Google translator and an online Arabic transliterator, so there's a high likelihood of a mistake. General warnings are in Chapter 1.

Thanks to all my readers, reviewers, alerters and favoriters!

* * *

><p><strong>1978 – Cairo, Egypt<strong>

"Caroline?" The teacher called out as she went down the class list. No one raised her hand.

"Caroline? Caroline Prentiss?" Emily glanced around the room and realized that Mrs. Phillips was calling her by her middle name. She opened her mouth to correct her teacher, but then thought better of it. She was starting at _another_ new school with new classmates. She'd learned that new doesn't mean different and it doesn't seem to matter the country or the school, Emily was still the one to get picked on.

But what if _she _were new? Would things be different? There was only one way to find out.

"Here." Emily's hand shot up into the air as she officially began third grade as Caroline Prentiss.

As the teacher went down the rest of the class roster, Emily became lost in her thoughts about who Caroline would be. The most important thing was that Caroline should be popular. So popular in fact, that no one would even consider making fun of her. Caroline would be funny, smart, and the type of person everyone wants to be friends with.

"Sa chemise est couverte de pellicules," she heard a whisper behind her. She glanced to her right and noted that in fact, the girl did have a rather severe case of dandruff and her shirt was covered in flakes.

"Son nez est comme Pinocchio's." Emily felt a poke in her shoulder so she knew she was the one with the Pinocchio nose.

Emily could feel her cheeks redden and her eyes burned. So much for starting off the school year differently. But then Emily remembered she was Caroline. While Emily would never say anything to those boys, Caroline could put them in their place by not so subtly informing them that she understood French. Caroline would take control of the situation. Caroline would not be known as the girl with the Pinocchio nose.

She turned around and whispered, "Si vous allez à insulter quelqu'un, assurez-vous qu'ils ne parlent pas français."

She saw the surprised looks on the boys' faces.

"Mais vous êtes une Américaine," one of them sputtered. Emily couldn't help but smirk when she saw how thrown they were by her ability to understand and speak French.

"Oui. Contrairement à la croyance populaire des Américains parlent français." Emily smiled, knowing she had just scored a few points. Emily was actually feeling quite proud of Caroline for speaking up, knowing that Emily would have just looked down at her desk and ignored the boys for fear that if she said anything, it would have just given them fodder to harass her more.

"Je suis Olivier, et il estStéphane," the boy sitting behind her said, introducing himself and Stéphane. The grin on his face told Emily that they were clearly not mad at her for calling them out. In fact, they seemed almost impressed.

"Caroline," she said, excited that her new identity was confirmed.

Emily heard the teacher tapping her desk and like her classmates, she turned around to face the front of the classroom. "All right, class, we're going to split into groups for our first project." The teacher went around the room dividing her class into groups of four. Emily was glad to see that Olivier and Stéphane were in her group with Dandruff Girl as the fourth member.

Unfortunately, Dandruff Girl's real name was Florence, which led immediately to Olivier calling her Flocons, French for _flakes_. It was clear that Florence, who was from Great Britain, did not speak French, but was smart enough to know that Stéphane and Olivier were insulting her. Emily felt a twinge of guilt when Florence looked over at her, seeking an ally.

"Nous devrions peut-être gentil avec elle," Emily suggested softy. She felt guilty and thought maybe they should be nice to Florence. After all, she knew exactly how Florence was feeling and had only narrowly escaped their teasing as well.

"Nous devrions peut-être gentil avec elle," Stéphane mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

Emily flashed Stéphane a smile and chuckled. "Je ne peux pas croire que tu pensais que j'étais sérieux!" Emily said immediately to let Stéphane know that she wasn't serious about her request.

"Elle est un blizzard marchant," she added, commenting that Florence was like a walking blizzard.

Caroline was not going to feel guilty about making fun of anyone because there was no way she was going to let anyone make fun of her. She was not going to end up with a nickname like Pinocchio. It was in that moment that Caroline became a bully.

.oOo.

"Amilah-nâz-am, may I come in?" Emily heard her nanny call to her, using the nickname she'd given Emily.

"Of course." Emily closed her book and felt the butterflies take flight in her stomach. Today was parent-teacher conferences at school. The Ambassador's schedule did not permit her time in the afternoon to attend and Mr. Prentiss was out of the country on business, so Emily's nanny, Ifra, went in their stead.

"Keef halek?" she asked, making small talk in an effort to stall the inevitable.

"Kowayyesah." Ifra answered, her tone belying her answer of "fine".

"Henak shey' nhen bhajh ela menaqeshh." The butterflies in Emily's stomach seemed to multiply as she heard Ifra's stern tone of voice telling her they needed to discuss something.

"Why is it that when I talked to Mrs. Phillips, she told me all about a Caroline Prentiss?" Ifra asked, switching to English.

Emily's cheeks reddened. She knew she was going to get caught one day and today was that day.

"What did you say?" Emily asked, afraid of the answer. In the six months since school started, Caroline had managed to build quite a reputation. All Emily had ever known about the popular kids is that they were the ones who picked on her the most. So Caroline had arrived at the top of the social pyramid through malace and intimidation, bolstered by Olivier and Stéphane.

"I let her tell me about Caroline, who sounds a lot like my Amilah," Ifra said. "Like my Amilah, Caroline is very smart and loves to learn. She is good in science and knows her maths. Caroline is the best reader in the class in both English and Arabic." Ifra's smile faded and shook her head.

"But Caroline is not like my Amilah because Caroline makes fun of the other girls in class and has been punished for talking out of turn. Caroline even got into a punching fight with one her classmates and stole a boy's lunch money." Ifra made a tsk-ing noise with her tongue.

"That does not sound like my Amilah," Ifra said. "My Amilah is kind, gentle, and cares about other people's feelings. She is always polite and waits for her time to speak."

Emily's face continued to redden and tears came to her eyes. She stared at her hands in her lap to avoid looking at Ifra.

"Amilah-nâz-am, tell me, who is Caroline?" Ifra said, reaching for one of Emily's hands and taking it into her own. Emily knew that Ifra already knew the answer to that question, but was going to force Emily to say it out loud.

Emily continued to look down, not wanting to see the disapproval and disappointment on Ifra's face. She sniffled, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"Fana asef," she whispered.

"Amilah, don't tell me you are sorry. Tell me, why do you call yourself Caroline?" Ifra encouraged.

Emily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "It was Mrs. Phillips, really. On the first day when she called roll, she said 'Caroline Prentiss'. I guess something got mixed up my with first and middle name."

"But you didn't correct her?" Ifra asked.

Emily shook her head. "I thought…"

Emily swallowed and finally looked up at Ifra and expecting to see anger and disappointment. She was completely disarmed by the look of concern on Ifra's face. She decided to finally tell her secret.

"I thought that maybe Caroline would be someone the other kids would like and she could have friends," Emily explained.

"But Amilah, _you_ are someone the other kids would like and be friends with," Ifra said.

Emily shook her head sadly. "No, I'm not. _I'm_ the one the other kids make fun of. They teased me when we were in Bulgaria, nobody liked me in Turkey, and everyone hated me at the other school."

Emily had never admitted that out loud and she felt even worse as she listed her past experiences. She swallowed hard and continued her tale of being pathetic and friendless.

"Before I thought it wouldn't matter if nobody liked me because I probably wasn't going to be there for more than a year or so. And then we'd move some place else where everything is new and different, except I'm still the same Emily that nobody likes.

"But when I was Caroline, I became friends with Stéphane and Olivier and they liked me. Well, they liked Caroline, because she, well I, spoke French. And with them it was easy to make fun of the other kids. And when we were making fun of them, nobody was making fun of me."

"Do _you_ like Caroline?" Ifra asked.

Emily shrugged and looked down at her hands. The truth was she didn't like who Caroline had become. Caroline was supposed to be funny and popular, but really she was just mean and rude. She didn't like that Caroline was mean to the other kids, made them cry, and got into fights. But she knew that if Caroline wasn't making the other kids cry, it would be the other kids making Emily cry. With the exception of Stéphane and Olivier, Emily didn't think that anyone really _liked_ Caroline, they were just nice to her because they were afraid of her.

"Would you be friends with Caroline?" Ifra asked.

Emily shook her head and started picking at her nails. Since her mom took the posting in Bulgaria, Emily hadn't met anyone who wanted to be her friend. In Bulgaria it was because she didn't speak the right language. In Turkey it had been because she didn't wear the right clothes or pray to the right God. And in Egypt it had almost been because she had an ugly nose and skinny arms. Emily felt her eyes burning as she thought back to that first day of school.

"Why, Amilah?" Ifra asked, placing her hands on Emily's.

Emily shook her head. It was one thing to think about all the times she was made fun of, left out, ignored, tripped, pushed or left behind, but it was entirely another to say it out loud. She took her hands out from under Ifra's and wiped the tears from her eyes. She had spent the last three years convincing herself it didn't matter, that she didn't care. Every assault, either verbal or physical, had been tucked neatly away and forgotten about. Now that she was talking with Ifra, everything she had tried to ignore or forget came tumbling out of its hiding space. She bit her lip and stared up at the ceiling, willing these memories to go back to where they came from.

She thought how her mom was already talking about changing posts and so it wouldn't be long before they left Egypt and it was time to start over again. Except that each starting over was the same – she was always the new kid, or the kid who didn't speak the right language, or the kid whose parents didn't work at the right company. She was _always_ the kid that everyone picked on.

It was hard to like yourself when no one else did.

"Because nobody wants to be my friend," she whispered after Ifra repeated her question. Emily knew this conversation wasn't going to be over until Ifra allowed it to be over.

"Oh, Amilah, there are lots of people who like you," Ifra assured her.

Emily rolled her eyes; Ifra's words were empty and unsubstantiated.

"_I_ like you," Ifra told her.

Emily shrugged. "It's your _job_. My parents pay you to like me."

"No, Amilah, they pay me to watch you, make sure you get to school on time, that you eat your meals, and don't wear dirty clothes all the time. They pay me to keep you healthy and safe," Ifra corrected. "I like you because you are a kind and loyal girl. And you make me laugh. For that I am lucky."

Emily rolled her eyes again; she'd had enough nannies to know how it worked. They always told her how much they cared for her, but since she changed nannies more frequently than she had changed schools, it didn't matter. Because no matter how much they _said_ they cared, when their time was up, they left and Emily never heard from them again.

Emily sighed, wanting the conversation to be over. She had good reason to lock these memories away, and the ache in her chest and head confirmed that it was better to not let them out again. She just wanted to get back to reading so she could ignore everything else in her life. Emily turned and picked up her book, trying to not so subtly let Ifra know that she was done talking.

"Amilah, I want you to think about what you want to do about Caroline," Ifra told her, standing up. Emily nodded and had her book open before Ifra was out the door.

.oOo.

Emily was sitting in her bedroom, working on her math homework when her mother knocked on her door.

"Mother!" Emily tried to keep the excitement out of her voice, but her mother rarely came by for an unplanned visit. Generally the time she spent with her mother was scheduled days or weeks in advance.

"Would you like some of my cookies?" Emily asked, closing her workbook and offering up her plate of almond cookies.

"No thank you, Emily." The Ambassador sat down on her bed. "There's a matter that we need to discuss."

Emily's excitement evaporated and was replaced with the same sense of dread as when Ifra had appeared at her door on the day of teacher conferences. In the weeks since their conversation Emily had done what Ifra had asked of her. She thought about what she wanted to do about Caroline and the answer she came up with was nothing. She had chosen to pretend her conversation with Ifra had never happened. She was afraid to come clean at school and knew that if she told her teacher her name was Emily; she'd be forced to explain herself. And _that_ was something Emily wanted to avoid for as long as possible.

She tried to be nicer to her classmates, but everytime she didn't go along with Olivier and Stéphane, they would start making fun of her. Her knowledge of French was going to only take her so far; three-way friendships were complicated and any wrong move, Emily knew she'd be on the outs. So she continued to be Caroline, a perhaps more subdued version, but one that still picked fights and tried to make other kids cry.

Emily suddenly snapped back to the present and realized that her mother was looking at her. "Yes, Mother. About what?" She tried to sound casual, as though she didn't know where this conversation was going to go.

"I spoke with Ifra about the conference with your teacher and she told me that you've not only lied about your name, you've pretended to be someone else, and that your someone else is a bully."

The Ambassador's voice was laced with a calm anger that Emily found terrifying. In general, Emily did all she could to avoid angering her parents since they spent so little time and attention on her, she didn't want to waste that by having them upset with her. Not only was Emily afraid of her mother's wrath, she was hurt that Ifra had betrayed her confidence. If the Ambassador knew that Emily had no friends, she'd be even more angry because all she was ever telling Emily was that she needed to be friends with everyone because that's how you get ahead in the world. She would also know that for the last three years Emily had been lying about her friends and playmates from school.

Emily took a deep breath as she tried to construct a stoic façade that wouldn't betray any of her feelings. Emily knew how disappointed her mother would be in her if she told the truth. After all, she was the Ambassador's daughter. It had taken days to properly stow away her conversation with Ifra and there was no need for those memories to arise again.

"I think Ifra has the story mixed up, Mother," Emily explained calmly.

"On the first day of school, Mrs. Phillips thought my name was Caroline and even though I tried to correct her, she always still called me Caroline. And there's _another_ girl named Caroline in the class and _she's _actually the one who's mean to everyone. People just get us confused. Mrs. Phillips, especially," Emily said, the lies coming out of her mouth before she even stopped to think about them.

"I'm sorry, Mother, I should have been more forthright with Mrs. Phillips about the name mix-up and been more confident about standing up to her," Emily said, knowing that her mother would immediately latch onto the comment about confidence.

"Emily, I have always taught you that confidence is key. You're not going to get anywhere in this world if you don't have confidence in yourself. You are a Prentiss, which means you should be confident and self-assured at all times," Emily's mother stated, proving her right.

Emily looked down, hoping that she could hide the tears forming in her eyes. She was a Prentiss, she was supposed to be respected and well liked. She was a failure to her family name.

"There's no need to cry, Emily dear," her mother said, standing up. "Just remember when you get to school on Monday that you are Emily Caroline Prentiss and that you are proud of who you are and that you will not permit yourself to be confused with some bully. Because you are better than that."

She patted Emily on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

* * *

><p><em>Sa chemise est couverte de pellicules<em>: Her shirt is covered in dandruff.

Elle _a un nez comme Pinocchio_: _She_ has a nose like Pinocchio

_Si vous allez à insulter quelqu'un, assurez-vous qu'ils ne parlent pas français_: If you're going to insult someone, make sure they don't speak French.

_Mais vous êtes une Américaine_: But you're an American.

_Oui. Contrairement à la croyance populaire il ya quelques Américains qui parlent français: _Yes. Contrary to popular belief, there are some Americans who speak French.

_Je suis Olivier, et il est Stéphane_: I'm Olivier, he's Stéphane.

_Nous devrions peut-être gentil avec elle_: Maybe we should be nice to her.

_Je ne peux pas croire que tu pensais que j'étais sérieux!: _I can't believe you thought I was serious!

_Elle est un blizzard marchant_: She is a walking blizzard.

* * *

><p><em>Nâz-am<em>: dear

_Keef halek_: How are you?

_Kowayyesah_: Fine

_Henak shey' nhen bhajh ela menaqeshh_: We need to talk.

_Fana asef_: I'm sorry

_Amilah is an Arabic name. It means 'hopeful'._


	5. 2007: Atlanta, GA

Again, thanks to all those who are reading, reviewing, alerting, and favoriting. You make my day a little brighter.

There are general warnings for the story in Chapter 1.

* * *

><p><strong>2007 – Atlanta, GA; New Orleans, LA; Quantico, VA<br>**

_Hankel. Tobias Hankel._

Hearing his name for the second time that evening made Emily's chest tighten. Wasn't that the name of the witness that JJ and Reid went to interview?

"_Hankel?" _Hotch's tone of voice told Emily she was correct.

Sitting in the SUV for the eighty-two minutes it took to get from Atlanta to Hankel's farm definitely ranked in the top three on Emily's list of worst drives ever. Number one on the list was the time she was locked in the trunk of a sedan while being driven across the Turkish border. She very much hoped that the experience would stay number one forever.

When they arrived at Hankel's property, Emily jumped out of the car and felt her heart pounding in her ears. The first thing that hit Emily as she ran into the barn was the acrid smell of blood and body odor. She couldn't help but think the worst when she saw how much blood there was. Could it only have come from the victim? Perhaps it was two people's blood. Or worse, three. She was relieved to hear JJ's shout.

"F.B.I!" Her relief faded when she turned to find JJ pointing her gun at them.

"Don't move!" JJ's terror-stricken voice rose above their own shouts.

Whether it was Morgan's words or that JJ finally recognized who was standing before her, Emily watched as her face softened and took on an almost blank look to it. As JJ's arms wavered and she began to lower her gun, both Emily and Morgan approached her.

"Tobias Hankel is the UnSub," JJ said in a monotone voice, ignoring Morgan's inquiry as to whether she was hurt. "We just thought he was a witness."

"I had to kill them," JJ continued her story, not acknowledging their presence. "They just completely tore her apart. Nothing even left…"

"JJ, look at me." Emily doubted that she could get through to her terrified friend. After all, JJ and Morgan had known each other a much longer time and JJ wasn't registering his questions at all.

"Look at me," she said more firmly. To her surprise JJ turned.

"Where's Reid?" she asked quickly, not sure when JJ would lose her focus.

Upon hearing that they'd split up and Reid was out back, Morgan took off, leaving JJ and Emily in the barn.

"Are you hurt?" Emily asked, seeing the blooding seeping through JJ's suit jacket. JJ had broken Emily's gaze and seemed to be looking past her.

"I don't think so." JJ's voice wavered and as much as Emily wanted to reach out to comfort her friend, she wasn't certain how JJ would react to physical contact. After all, it was a mere five minutes ago that they were facing each other with their guns drawn.

"JJ, look at me," Emily said firmly when she noticed that JJ was staring at the dead dogs.

"They just tore her apart," JJ said in the same monotone voice as before. "I would have been next."

Emily took a tentative step towards JJ, whose gun wasn't holstered.

"JJ, I want you to take my hand," Emily said holding her hand out.

JJ looked up at Emily, her face filled with the same wild terror as before. Emily just held her gaze and nodded at her outstretched hand.

"It's just me," Emily said softly. She couldn't imagine what her friend must have seen to have her reacting this way. Standing in front of her was not the poised media liaison that Emily had gotten to know over the last few months.

"Emily?" JJ whispered, reaching her hand out.

Emily took JJ's hand firmly into hers. "Let's get you out of here."

"Is that my blood?" JJ asked staring down at their joined hands.

"I think so, sweetie," Emily answered.

"Where's Reid?" JJ asked echoing their earlier question.

"Morgan went around back to get him," Emily assured her. "There's an ambulance out there and they'll take a look at your arm. Reid and Morgan are probably out there."

JJ just nodded and let Emily lead her out of the barn. Emily walked JJ over to the waiting ambulance and looked around as the paramedics looked at JJ's wounds. She didn't see Reid or Morgan.

"I'm just going to check around the other side," she told JJ. "I'll be back in a minute, ok?"

JJ nodded. Emily was certain that she could have asked JJ to borrow a tutu and would have gotten the same response, but she was getting worried about Reid and needed to go check things out for herself.

When Morgan told her that Reid couldn't be found and that they'd found drag marks that led into the cornfield, Emily's heart leapt into her throat. She thought about the last time she'd heard the phrase "drag marks" in relation to one of her teammates.

"They haven't found Reid?" JJ asked, jolting Emily back to the present.

"Not yet." It was the same answer Johannes had given her when she had asked about Luca. She blinked quickly as she sent a silent plea to the universe that they would not find Reid the way they had found Luca. Emily had been the agent taking point on the raid so she was the first one to find her undercover husband battered and bloodied to the point he was almost unrecognizable. Except that he and Emily had been living undercover as husband and wife for over a year, and she recognized the small cluster of freckles on his left ankle that looked like the constellation, _Delphinus_.

After Luca's death, Emily was evacuated out of Turkey without even returning to the home that she and Luca lived in. Apparently contractors for Interpol cleaned out the house and shipped their things back to the field office in Boston. She remembered sorting through their belongings, feeling like the mourning widow.

It was Luca's murder that prompted Emily's switch to the Valhalla case. Emily couldn't bear the idea of going undercover with another agent like she had with Luca. In her mind it would be easier that her "partner" would also be her mark. The way she had figured it, Lauren Reynolds would be the one who became invested in Ian Doyle, not Emily Prentiss.

.oOo.

"Welcome to our nightmare."

The flatness in JJ's voice as she greeted Garcia tugged at Emily's heart. She wanted to be able to offer some comfort to JJ, but at the same time, every time Emily looked at her friend, she couldn't help but second guess what had happened to get Reid kidnapped. She knew Morgan felt the same way, and she hoped that she was better at hiding her doubt and contempt better than he was.

A few hours later Emily and Gideon had just finished going through some of the belongings in one of the bedrooms. As she was walking past the bathroom she was thinking about how great it would feel to just wash her face and hands. She was disgusted by the idea of actually using Hankel's home for anything other than a crime scene, but she just felt filthy – both physically and metaphorically.

As she rounded the corner to get to the bathroom, she suddenly found JJ pointing a gun at her.

"Hey, hey, hey! JJ!" Her shock and panic prevented her from saying much more than a few rhyming syllables.

"It's me. Are you all right?" Emily immediately regretted the edge in her voice when she saw the remorse, embarrassment, and still-present fear on JJ's face.

"Oh, yeah," JJ's voice was flustered as she tried to holster her gun, her hands shaking too much to make it an easy placement. "I'm sorry, you scared me."

Emily's face softened as she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

_I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry you're hurting. I'm sorry that the only reprieve I have to offer is to go visit a guy from NA. I'm sorry that I'm mad at you for separating from Reid. I'm sorry that I can't stop second-guessing your decisions._

Emily decided to forgo washing her hands because she worried that the longer she stood there with JJ, the more her thoughts would turn negative.

"Emily." She turned when she heard JJ call her name.

"How come none of this gets to you?"

"What do you mean?" She knew exactly what JJ meant.

"You came off a desk job," JJ explained. "Now suddenly you're in the field surrounded by mutilated bodies and you don't even flinch."

JJ stood there, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Her eyes bore into Emily, begging her to share her secret of how to turn off the pain and guilt that was threatening to explode.

Emily wasn't sure how to answer that question. The truth was that she'd spent the last five years doing undercover work with the FBI and Interpol, infiltrating various terrorist groups. She was all too familiar with the horrible things people are capable of inflicting on others. She'd barely managed to escape doing some of them herself.

"She's right." Emily turned to face Hotch. "You don't blink."

She thought that comment was ironic coming from a man who emoted with his eyebrows.

"I guess, maybe, I compartmentalize better than most people."

It was true. Emily had been honing her ability to compartmentalize since childhood. _You must hide your emotions where other people can't find them. _

She'd become so adept at hiding her emotions that sometimes _she_ couldn't find them. Eventually though, they oftentimes emerged at inopportune times, jumping out of their hiding spot like a six-year-old playing Hide-and-Seek. There was a fine line between compartmentalization and repression, and even Emily couldn't tell which side of the line she landed on most of the time.

Emily was grateful for Morgan's interruption so that she didn't have to explain herself any further.

.oOo.

"I didn't mean to imply you were unfeeling." JJ's sudden announcement startled Emily.

Emily was stretched out in the middle seat one of the SUVs, and JJ was in the back seat. There was no place in Hankel's house that was appealing to curl up on. When Emily saw JJ fading, she suggested that they both head out to one of the SUVs to grab a few hours of sleep. Emily had been staring up at the ceiling of the SUV for the last thirty minutes and had actually assumed that JJ had fallen asleep.

"I've been called worse," Emily immediately regretted her glib response as the phrase _frigid bitch_ came tumbling into her thoughts.

"By who?" JJ sounded appalled.

"Never mind," Emily said, not wanting to continue the conversation. Because nothing made the dam start to crumble like analyzing its construction.

"I didn't think you meant it that way," Emily added. JJ wasn't the first person to enquire about her ability to be calm in the face of chaos.

It was one of her mother's first lessons: when you wear your heart on your sleeve it makes you powerless and vulnerable, two words that should never be associated with a Prentiss.

Emily had spent her childhood partitioning her feelings and reactions, so when the opportunity arose to combine her translating with undercover work, Emily jumped at the chance. One of the first lessons of working undercover was about building barriers. It was important to separate her cover life from her real life. Emily Prentiss loved science fiction, but Katherine Pennington only read romance novels; Emily Prentiss preferred pants, but Bianca Moretti owned enough dresses to open her own boutique. Emily Prentiss was a lesbian, but Lauren Reynolds was an arms dealer trying to seduce her way into the IRA's inner circle.

"You should try to get some sleep," Emily said, trying to change the subject, even though most of the conversation was taking place in her thoughts.

"I can't even close my eyes without seeing their eyes," JJ admitted softly. "And when it's quiet I can hear them breathing.

"And then I think about Reid and it feels like someone punched a hole in my chest." JJ voice got higher-pitched and more pressured with every word. It sounded like she was having a hard time catching her breath.

Emily sat up and saw JJ sitting with her face in her hands, her shoulders moving up and down with exaggerated breaths. She got out of her seat and moved back a row.

She reached out and tentatively put her hand on JJ's back. When she didn't flinch, Emily started rubbing soothing circles on JJ's back.

"Just take slow breaths," Emily told her. "Not too deep."

"In and out. In and out," Emily said in a slow, even cadence. After a little while, Emily could feel JJ's breathing slow down to match her rhythm.

"Did I ever tell you about when I worked at Glacier National Park when I was in college?" Emily's question seemed to come out of nowhere.

JJ shook her head.

"It was the summer between my junior and senior years. After living abroad for so long, I felt like I never really knew the United States. And definitely nothing west of the Mississippi."

"I didn't learn that there were radio stations that started with "K" until senior year of high school when we played in Nationals in Denver," JJ shared.

"Honestly, Jayje, it was the most beautiful place I'd ever been." Emily paused. "But the problem was that the snowpack was deeper than usual the year prior so there hadn't been enough food to support all the moose. It ended up really reducing the moose population in Glacier Park and the tourists were starting to complain that they weren't seeing enough wildlife."

JJ looked a little confused.

"So some of us were asked to dress up in moose suits," Emily explained. "You know, so there would be more moose around for the tourists to see."

"It's not the damn zoo," JJ said indignantly.

Emily shrugged. "People come with certain expectations and it was our job to ensure that those were met so that they would tell their friends and family all about their exciting trip to Glacier National Park." Emily recited the statement as though she'd heard that speech many times that summer.

"Anyway, I was assigned to work one of the ponds. It was a pretty good distance from the road, so that the tourists could see I was a moose, but not see that I was a human in a moose suit."

JJ continued to look nonplussed, so Emily proceeded on with her story.

"I was out there one afternoon, you know, preening and being all moose-like in the pond. I pretended to munch on some twigs and leaves. Every so often I would lift up my head so the tourists could get a good photo.

"All of a sudden I noticed that the tourists were yelling and pointing and waving their arms in my direction, so I turned my moose head around and saw that there was a bear, about fifty yards away from me." Emily paused for a bit of a dramatic effect and knew she had succeeded when she saw JJ's eyes widen.

"You may admire me for my ability to keep calm, but I assure you this was _not_ the time for calm. I couldn't think of what to do – was I better off as a human in a moose suit or as a human? I mean, let's face it, either way, I was definitely a bear delicacy.

"There are more and more tourists arriving. And I can see out of the corner of my eye that the bear is getting closer. And that would be the point where full-on panic set in and I tried to get out of the moose suit, except that the zipper was stuck."

JJ gasped.

"So I started screaming to the tourists, _Help me! I'm not a moose! I'm a woman! Help me!_" Emily exclaimed, her voice taking on the same panic as it had at the time.

"But the tourists couldn't hear me or weren't paying any attention. So I start wriggling around in my moose-suit, still yelling at them and trying to get the zipper unstuck, but it wouldn't budge and I couldn't really even walk very well in the moose-suit. And so I was basically standing bear bait.

"I heard the splashing of the bear entering the pond and I was pretty certain that I was going to die wearing a moose-suit. So I start screaming louder and I'm not even sure I was getting any actual words out, just a bunch of nonsensical syllables."

Emily paused, allowing for the feeling of panic and suspense to build in the silence.

"And all of a sudden I hear from behind me, _Will you shut up? You're going to get us both fired!_"

Emily's face broke into a grin as she saw the dawn of realization flash across JJ's face. JJ punched her lightly in the arm.

"I can't believe I believed you!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "Did you even ever work at Glacier?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah, but there wasn't any moose suit or bear suit. I actually learned the story from my roommate at Glacier. She got me the first time she told it."

She hadn't. She had never worked at Glacier. She had actually never even been to Glacier National Park. The only true part of the story was that while she was well-traveled around the world, she barely knew anything west of Pennsylvania. She had learned the moose story from one of her instructors during Undercover Ops training. It was her favorite example of being able to sell a preposterous story by using the right amount of detail and emotion.

Emily made a mental note to update her notebook about Glacier.

"Thanks," JJ said, the smile faded from her face as Emily's short distraction came to an end. "I still don't think I'm going to sleep, but the image of you panicking in a moose-suit is definitely better than all of the other thoughts that have invaded my brain."

"I'm glad," Emily said softly.

"Do you mind just staying back here a little longer? I know you were just two feet away before but with the seat and not being able to see you…" JJ's sentence trailed off.

"I understand." Emily scooted away from JJ and patted her leg. "Why don't you just lie down and relax."

JJ obliged, putting her head down on Emily's lap. Emily began to absent-mindedly run her fingers through JJ's hair.

"My mom used to run her fingers through my hair whenever I couldn't sleep," JJ said, yawning.

"Mine too," Emily said. She was lying, of course. After all, whatever was keeping Emily up at night hardly represented an international crisis and was therefore left to her nannies to deal with.

"She used to tell me her fingertips could take away whatever thoughts were keeping me from sleeping," Emily told her. Another lie, but she thought JJ could use the mental image.

After a few more minutes, Emily could see some of the tension leaving JJ's face.

"I'm beginning to think you inherited your mom's abilities," JJ mumbled, the impending sleep permeating her voice.

Emily shook her head, even though JJ couldn't see her. She had definitely inherited her mom's abilities, though being able to comfort someone was certainly not one of them.

"Must have," Emily said. She resisted the urge to tell JJ that it was likely just classical conditioning learned in childhood. Because that's exactly what Reid would have done.

Reid.

Emily glanced at her watch and saw it was about three in the morning. She closed her eyes, but knew sleep was unlikely to come.

.oOo.

A sense of anxious relief permeated plane ride home. The doctor in the Emergency Room explained that most of Reid's injuries were superficial and he would not require hospitalization. No one believed that _all_ of Reid's injuries were superficial, definitely not the ones to his psyche. They all knew that Hankel's torture went far beyond just the physical beatings. Morgan had tried talking to Reid, but the younger profiler cut him off and went over to the couches, wrapped himself in a blanket, and slept.

Emily caught herself staring at Reid's blanket-covered form so she turned to the blue expanse out of the window to distract herself.

JJ slid into the seat next her.

"Thanks," she whispered, barely audible.

Emily shook her head. "It was nothing."

JJ covered Emily's hand with her own. "It wasn't."

"I know you were nervous when you first got here, but I think you're a real asset to the team. We're lucky to have you," JJ told her.

Emily looked at her, the doubt written on her face.

"And I also know that neither Hotch nor Gideon would ever say so, even if that's what they're thinking. Brilliant profilers, but neither of them has ever figured out that we all need to hear that we're doing a good job now and then." JJ smiled. "So I'm telling you."

Emily smiled back. JJ would probably never know just how much it meant to her to hear those words. Hotch's attitude had switched from distrustful to indifferent; and Emily couldn't tell if Gideon was too busy being in his own head or if he was deliberately dismissive. She tended to favor the former, but felt that he was far more aloof with her than any of the other members of the team.

Emily had felt like she was floundering to find her place on the team. All of the profilers had their niche, but Emily was still struggling to carve hers out. Morgan kicked down doors and was obsessed with obsessional crimes; Reid was a walking computer and atlas; Gideon was a master interrogator; and Hotch was their experienced and brilliant leader. All Emily had done was shown herself to be fluent in Arabic and able to build a rapport with prostitutes on the street.

"Thanks," Emily said squeezing JJ's hand. "It, uh, means a lot to me that you think that."

It was the most honest and open statement Emily had said out loud in a very long while.

.oOo.

Another day, another case, another airplane ride. Another foot-in-mouth moment. It seemed like Emily was having more and more of those lately. Like the one that had happened on their way to New Orleans.

"_Well, maybe he couldn't take the heat."_

"_That's not for us to judge, is it?"_

It wasn't so much his words, but rather his tone of voice. Each syllable was laced with contempt and hit Emily square in the chest. Emily knew that Reid was struggling, but that didn't do anything to soften the blow.

From the way he wouldn't look at the crime scene photos to the jittery leg-shaking and foot-tapping that was nearly constant, it was clear that he was still affected by his time with Hankel. Of course he was. It had only been a little over a month since his kidnapping and he was back in the field after only a week off. Emily was amazed that he'd been allowed to return to work so quickly. When her undercover husband was killed, Emily was forced to take three weeks of leave and she wasn't allowed back in the field for another month after that.

While Reid seemed generally curt, distracted, and agitated around everyone on the team, Emily felt like she was a particular target for his antagonism. She didn't think she was over-stepping her bounds as his teammate by calling him out on the shit move he pulled at the homeless shelter in Houston. He'd managed to put so much malice into his response, Emily felt like he knew her insecurities and targeted them specifically. But he was right; she didn't know him that well. She didn't really know any of her teammates very well.

Even JJ, who she'd felt closest to.

"_So, was that a phone number I saw you slipping to Detective LaMontagne?" Emily asked._

"_What?" JJ said, the confusion in her voice seemed forced. "No. Why would I have to give him my number? He's the one who called the BAU, remember? He's _got _my number."_

"_That he does," Emily said with a grin._

"_I know what you're hinting at, Prentiss," JJ said, not returning Emily's smile. "Don't."_

_JJ's words hit her like she'd been punched in the stomach. Her cheeks felt warm and her throat tightened._

"_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," Emily said, softly. "I won't mention it again."_

"_Good," JJ's voice was abrupt, the annoyance still evident on her face. "Because there's nothing to mention."_

"_Really, I'm sorry," Emily repeated. She stood up and moved to one of the seats in the back of the plane._

For the last forty-five minutes that conversation had played over and over in her head. She had completely misread her relationship with JJ. From their first lunch together, it had seemed that the possibility of friendship was there in every conversation, even if it was just about something work-related. Then after what had happened during the Hankel case, and the time they'd spent together at the station in Houston, Emily had felt a real connection with JJ. She felt like the possibility of friendship had been replaced by the beginning of friendship.

Apparently not.

From her first day at the BAU, Emily could sense the friendship that underscored every team interaction. She knew that just being a part of the BAU didn't make her privy to being a part of that camaraderie, but couldn't help but wish desperately to fit in to that dynamic.

Perhaps it was that desperation that was causing her to mess up with each of her teammates.

She had tried to talk with Morgan a few weeks ago. She made up some stupid story about a stupid date gone wrong. The week before she had noticed the small hand-written notecard Morgan had taped to his computer,

_New knowledge is the most valuable commodity on earth. The more truth we have to work with, the richer we become._

Kurt Vonnegut, _Breakfast of Champions_. She had lost track of how many times she had read that book. It was the reason she fell for Sophie, her first love. Emily still remembered that night like it had happened yesterday.

.oOo.

They had arrived at the bar in a group with six other friends, but new hook-ups, term papers, and a lovers' spat had eventually winnowed their group down to two. Emily sat across the table from Sophie, where they'd been talking about everything and nothing for the last two hours. It wasn't until Angela stopped by to say that she and Stan were taking off, that Emily's mouth went dry, all the moisture transferring to her palms making them disgustingly clammy. Suddenly a night out with a group of friends had turned into a date.

Emily and Sophie ran in the same group of friends, but had never really hung just the two of them. Emily's crush on Sophie prevented her from trying to become better friends; she was convinced that to ask Sophie to do something without their other friends would be tantamount to proclaiming her undying love. So she maintained a buffer of two to six other people at all times when she was with Sophie. With that buffer gone, Emily wasn't sure what to do.

Their waitress came over to their table to clear away the empty glasses. She asked the pair whether they wanted another drink and Emily paused to see what Sophie would do.

"I'll have a martini, a little dirty," she said looking at Emily with an expression that could only be interpreted one way.

"Make it two," Emily told the waitress. "I'd like mine a little dirtier, though."

Emily could feel the heat rising in her chest as she thought about what she'd just done. She was both proud and horrified at the idea that she had just attempted to flirt with Sophie.

"Well, it _is_ the breakfast of champions," Sophie said with a wink.

Emily just looked at her. Did Sophie just really make a joke about the Kurt Vonnegut book? Maybe she was just making a random pop culture reference without knowing its origin.

It was Sophie's turn to blush. "Sorry, it was a lame joke," she mumbled.

"No!" Emily said a little too loudly. "I just didn't expect Bonnie MacMahon's words of wisdom to come up in casual conversation."

Sophie smiled. "You're the first person to get that reference."

"Well, you're clearly not hanging out with enough nerds," Emily stammered.

"I guess I'll just have to hang out more with you, then, won't I?" The flirtatious glean in Sophie's eyes was unmistakable.

"Guess so," Emily replied, doing her best to be calm, cool, and coy.

.oOo.

So when she saw the quote on Morgan's desk, she had this insanely intense desire to bond with him over it. Certainly it was not her hope that their conversation about Vonnegut would end in the same way as her first with Sophie had. That is, naked. She just wanted to connect with him on level that she'd been able to connect with someone before. So she created an awkward interaction that only led to another one.

Weeks later Emily was still kicking herself for making up that stupid story just to get Morgan talking about Vonnegut. Looking back, it wasn't like she couldn't have just made some comment about the quote without making up some date that never happened. She could have just commented on the card on its face value and what it meant to her. Emily sighed. Would she ever be able to tell someone the truth without packaging it up in a bundle of lies?

_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be._

She had written that quote in the front of her notebook of secrets and lies, as a sort of reminder. She wasn't sure when she stopped heeding those words. She had become reckless in who she pretended to be. She did what needed doing to get the job done. She stopped thinking about who she was becoming and how far she was straying from the Emily Prentiss who was there in that bar with Sophie that night.

The _fasten seatbelt_ sign came on and broke Emily out of her daydream. She looked around the plane and realized that she'd managed to put off every member on the team in one way or another. Well, Morgan probably more in her mind than in reality since he didn't actually know that she had fabricated a date disaster just to make small talk about a common interest.

Emily hadn't felt this way since freshman year of high school when making friends felt like a game of bobbing for apples. Friendship with her classmates seemed so close, so attainable. But it was a self-sabotaging process, because every time she thought she had figured it out and went for the apple, all she managed to do was push it farther away.

Until, out of sheer desperation, she ended up biting off more than she could chew.

Emily felt so claustrophobic during the drive from the tarmac back to the parking garage that she jumped out of the car before Hotch had a chance to put the car in park. She was certain they would all read something into her sudden departure, but she didn't care. She shouted good-bye and gave a half-hearted wave before heading to the stairwell. She was parked on the fifth floor but the idea of taking the elevator made her queasy.

"Emily, wait!"

At the sound of JJ's voice, Emily turned and saw JJ running up the stairs after her.

"I just wanted to say I was sorry," JJ said, breathing hard after running up the flight of stairs at full speed.

"I was out of line," Emily told her as she started back up the stairs. "It wasn't my place to say anything."

"But that's where you're wrong," JJ said, reaching for Emily's hand to slow her down.

"Because you bet your bottom dollar that if I saw you handing your card over to one of the local police officers, I'd be asking _you_ plenty of questions," she said smiling.

Emily just looked at her, confused.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was embarrassed. But that's no excuse for being a jerk," JJ said.

"It's ok, really," Emily insisted. She didn't want JJ to feel obligated to apologize.

"It felt nice to be flirted with," JJ admitted. "I doubt he'll even call. I mean, how often have we both flirted with someone to get things done faster?"

"I'm sure that's not what he was doing," Emily said. She had seen the way Detective LaMontagne's eyes followed JJ around the room. It was obvious what his motivations were and taking a shortcut during the case was not one of them.

"Well, I still don't think anything is going to come of it." JJ shrugged and motioned over to the garage. "And I don't want any of them to know anything."

"I wouldn't betray your confidence," Emily assured her.

"I know."

She and JJ continued climbing the stairs in silence. Emily felt like she was back to bobbing for apples and for the last month all she'd done was inhale water. JJ's apology helped, but Emily was still trapped in the thoughts that had been stirred up on the plane.

"So, Garcia and I are having our traditional Ladies of Leisure Lunch on Friday and we'd like you to join us," JJ said, once again breaking into Emily's thoughts.

"The what?" Emily asked, paying attention to JJ just a fraction of a second too late.

"Our Ladies of Leisure Lunch," JJ repeated. "On the first Friday of the month that we're off the call queue, we go out for a leisurely lunch. That happens to fall this Friday."

"Oh, I don't want to intrude," Emily said, worried that JJ was just extending this invitation out of some misplaced sense of obligation.

"You're not intruding if we're inviting," JJ insisted. "And there's usually sangria involved."

"In the middle of a work day?" Emily asked.

"According to Pen, it's the official libation of leisurely ladies who lunch," JJ informed her.

"It's not quite the breakfast of champions, but it'll do, I suppose," Emily said, the words were out of her mouth before she'd even fully thought them through. Too much time spent thinking about Sophie did that to her.

"Oh no, not you, too, with the Vonnegut. I swear, I can never order a martini around Morgan because I have to hear about that stupid book, which of course prompts Reid to regale us with an informative tale about Wheaties." JJ rolled her eyes.

"It's the last time I'll mention it," Emily promised. "But you're sure Pen is ok with me coming along?"

JJ dug through her purse, pulled out her phone, and showed it to Emily.

_Have you told EP about LLL? If she resists, mention sangria. No one says no to sangria. Or Garcia. Or Garcia with sangria._

Emily laughed when she saw Garcia's text message from that morning.

"She has a point, I suppose," Emily conceded. "Garcia and sangria sound like quite the combination."

"Especially when she's _drinking_ the sangria," JJ added.

Emily smiled. She didn't want to count her apples just yet, but she was feeling hopeful.


	6. 1980: Cairo, Egypt

**A/N: **Thanks to **_kriziag_** and _**kdzl**_ for the beta. And thanks to my readers, reviewers, alerters, and favoriters! You're awesome.

A/N2: Please see Chapter 1 for general warnings and such.

* * *

><p><strong>1980 – Cairo, Egypt<strong>

Emily wrapped the towel around herself, trying to stay warm. She watched in fascination as her toes went from to purple to white and back to purple again when she pinched them. Class wasn't supposed to start for another five minutes and Emily was growing more excited by the second. Swim lessons were the only lessons she actually enjoyed. At her mother's insistence she took piano lessons and painting classes, but Emily took swim lessons because of her father. He had been a champion swimmer and actually competed on the Belgian water polo team at the 1960 Olympics.

According to her father, she had her first swim lesson when she was nine months old at the YMCA. Emily tried to imagine her mother in the pool with her blowing bubbles and making motorboat noises, but she could never quite conjure up the image. Emily hadn't had the opportunity to take swim lessons since they had moved to Turkey. But the public pool in Cairo started having female-only hours for both open swim and swim lessons, so Emily begged to be signed up.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Emily looked up and saw one of the girls from her class. Alice was one of the new kids this year and all Emily knew about her was the she was a "corporate kid". In general, other than native language, the other thing that determined the social hierarchy at Emily's school was whether your parents were politicians or worked for a multi-national company.

"Uh, sure. I mean, no, no one's sitting here," Emily told her. "You can sit."

"Are your parents making you take lessons, too?" Alice asked, clearly not as excited as Emily to be there.

"Yeah, my dad was a swimmer," Emily told her, deciding from Alice's tone of disdain, this was not the time to mention that she was actually the one who wanted to take the lessons.

"So, I hear your mom's the Ambassador," Alice told her.

"Yeah," Emily shrugged. She was always wary about people asking her about her mother. Twice while they were in Turkey she discovered that the kids inviting her over to their house to play were only doing so because their parents thought Emily's mother could get them visas to the United States.

"So, does she know the President?" Alice asked.

Emily nodded. "I remember we had tea and cookies with President Ford right before my mother went to Bulgaria. There were even little sandwiches that already had the crusts cut off."

Alice nodded, looking impressed.

"And I got to meet President Carter last Spring when I got to go to the Easter Egg Roll and then we had cupcakes and jelly beans," Emily told her, deciding not to mention that Ambassador Sloane's son ate so many cupcakes he threw up on the carpet in the Green Room.

"My daddy says that President Carter is just a stupid peanut farmer who is driving our country into the ground," Alice said matter-of-factly.

"The cupcakes were good and the First Lady was real nice to all of us," Emily said, shrugging. She'd been around enough politicians to know when not to talk about politics.

Luckily before Alice could ask any more questions, the teacher stood up and introduced herself and the other teachers.

"Do you understand what she's saying?" Alice whispered.

"Yeah, don't you know Arabic?" Emily asked. Alice's eyes widened and she shook her head.

Emily started to translate the teacher's words, which as this point were just introductions and explanations of how the first class was going to work.

"Lek! Fey melabes alesbahh alesweda'. Lemada tethedtheyn?" The teacher called out, pointing at Emily with her chin. Emily's heart sank; it was only two minutes into the class and she was already in trouble.

"Ana asef ya m'elem," Emily stood up and placed her right hand on her chest. She apologized profusely to the teacher and then explained she was translating for Alice who didn't understand what the teacher was saying. "Kent terjemh lesdeyqey. Anha la tethedth al'erebyh."

The teacher nodded her understanding and told Emily to sit back down. She even made an effort to pause every so often in her explanations so that Emily could translate for Alice. Emily sat back down, amazed that she wasn't actually in trouble. The teacher broke up the students into three groups of four.

"You are super cool, Emily," Alice gushed as they sat at the side of the pool, waiting for their next instructions. "You talk just like they do."

Emily shrugged. "It's nothing. I've been here a few years already. You'll learn, too."

"Yeah right," Alice scoffed. "I've moved every year for the last three years. Daddy says this is the last one for a while. Whatever. That's what he said about Germany last year. Are we in Germany now? No."

Emily offered Alice a small smile, knowing exactly what that felt like. At least Emily was under no illusions about the fact that everywhere they lived was temporary. When she was in Bulgaria and Turkey, Emily went to public school so all of her classmates were local kids. At the International School it seemed like students came and went every year, something for which Emily was deeply grateful after starting her career at the I.S. as Caroline Prentiss.

She eventually realized that calling herself Caroline and bullying the other kids didn't make her any happier than being Emily. She was pushed somewhat forcefully to that realization by her nanny, Ifra, by the end of the school year. Emily managed to convince her mother to let her cut her hair short, which was her way of starting 4th grade _in cognito_. Both Stéphane and Olivier, her bullying partners in crime both moved right after third grade, which made her transition back to Emily easier. Emily did her best to keep a low profile for the last school year which afforded her an escape from being picked on, but it also meant she didn't make any friends.

Fifth grade started about a month ago and Emily decided to stick with her low-profile plan; she would take being ignored over being teased any day.

"Mewafeq, walefteyat. Weswef nebda alakhetbar," the teacher said, trying to get the four girls' attention. "We start tests now," she added in English, smiling at Alice.

Since the class was going to be divided into low, intermediate, high groups the teachers wanted to assess everyone's swimming ability. Emily watched as the first girls in each group got into the pool. They were asked to float on their backs and stomachs. The girls that didn't flounder doing that were asked to do some arm strokes and kicks. Emily was confident that she would end up in the high group.

"Here goes nothing," Alice mumbled as she slid into the pool.

Emily was dismayed to see her friend sink down as she attempted a back float. Alice came up sputtering and coughing and clung to the teacher for dear life. Her attempt at a front float was equally unsuccessful. After helping Alice out of the pool, the teacher motioned to Emily that it was her turn.

Emily slid slowly into the pool, frantically trying to decide what to do. Should she swim like she always does or should she pretend to be as bad a swimmer to make sure she and Alice would be in the same group? She looked over at Alice who smiled at her and gave her a thumbs up.

Her decision was made.

She got ready to do a back float and rather than arching her back the way her father had taught her, she bent at the waist and started to sink immediately. She wildly flailed her arms and actually ended up punching the teacher who had moved in to help her. Emily had never been so excited about such a poor performance and was relieved to hear that she and Alice would be in the same group.

.oOo.

The next day at lunch Emily heard her name being called. She looked up and saw Alice waving her over. Emily tried to hide her surprise as she shoved the rest of her lunch back into the bag and walked over to the table where Alice and two other girls from her class sat.

"What are you doing?" Emily heard one of them whisper. It was Stacey. She was new last year and was definitely one of the popular "corporate" girls. She had never been mean to Emily, but generally treated her with a strong sense of indifference.

Emily stood awkwardly near the table, not sure if she should sit down. Alice quickly settled the debate by scooting over to make room for Emily next to her.

"Stacey, Gina, you know Emily, right?" As Alice made the introductions, Emily saw Stacey roll her eyes. Emily was reminded why her low-profile plan was such a good one. Ignored is better than despised.

"Shut up, Stacey," Alice said sharply. "Emily's in my swim class. And did you know she ate cupcakes with the President?"

Gina seemed impressed but Stacey rolled her eyes again. "My dad said President Carter is a self-serving idiot for not letting the U.S. play in the Summer Olympics. He ruined the lives of a lot of athletes, you know."

"Well, that wasn't one of the things we talked about over cupcakes," Emily said. She heard plenty about the Olympics boycott at home and was not about to get into a debate over the matter.

Gina started to giggle and Stacey just glared at her.

"Take a chill pill, Stacey," Alice said. "Did you hear that _Fame_ is coming to the Cineplex in a week? My cousin saw it when it came out in the U.S. and said it was primo."

"I even heard it's going to be subtitled, not dubbed," Gina added. "I can't wait."

"I got the record for my birthday," Stacey told them.

"Did you guys see the commercial? I wish I could dance like that," Emily added quietly.

"I _can_ dance like that," Stacey said.

"In your dreams, Stacey." Gina said and was rewarded with another glare from Stacey.

"We should go," Alice suggested. "Me and Emily have swim class next Thursday, but we could maybe go after that? You wanna?"

Both Gina and Stacey nodded. Emily didn't want to answer because she wasn't entirely sure that the invitation was extended to her.

"Emily, what do you think?" Alice asked.

"I can ask, but probably yeah," Emily said, thrilled at the prospect of going to see the movie. She was pretty sure that Ifra would say yes, just as sure as she was that neither her mother nor father would care.

"Cool beans," Alice squealed. Emily smiled, cool beans indeed.

.oOo.

The rest of the week seemed to crawl by as Emily's excitement for Thursday grew. Swim class _and_ a movie on the same day. Emily ate lunch with Alice, Stacey, and Gina every day. Stacey was even being nice to her. Emily was almost embarrassed about how happy she was when Stacey told her that she was super funny. For the first time ever, Emily actually looked forward to lunchtime and recess because she had friends to spend them with.

On Thursday, Alice got to the pool at the same time Emily did and they talked non-stop from the time they saw each other in the parking lot until they were at the side of the pool. They sat with the two other girls in their group, waiting for their teacher. Neither Fatma nor Samina spoke English so Emily was trying very hard to translate back and forth.

"Do you think they pay people to translate back and forth?" Alice asked Emily after Fatma and Samina went back to their own conversation.

Emily shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I could be rich if they do. Do you speak anything other than English?"

"German and French," Alice answered. "We were in Switzerland and then Germany. And now Egypt. Next…who knows? How about you?"

"Turkish and Bulgarian," Emily told her. "But sometimes I forget how to speak in Bulgarian. Turkish is easier to remember." Whenever Emily tried to think of the words in Bulgarian, she remembered the day when she threw up in class because she couldn't remember how to ask to go to the bathroom. So now she tried not think about how to say something in Bulgarian because it made her stomach hurt.

"I speak French, too," Emily admitted. Since her stint as Caroline, Emily had deliberately chosen to not speak French with the other kids at school.

"Did you live in France?" Alice asked.

Emily shook her head. "My father is from Belgium. And they speak French there. Well, my father also speaks Flemish, but my grandfather insisted I only learn French," Emily explained. "I don't really understand why. But my father speaks French to me at home." That was, whenever he was home, an occurrence that seemed to be more and more rare lately.

"Instead of English, you should translate to French for the class," Alice suggested when their teacher arrived.

Emily nodded. "Bien," she said with a smile.

Remembering she didn't know how to swim was more difficult than Emily had thought it would be. Her mind and body were in a constant battle as she instinctively floated high in the water and would then remember to bend her hips, deliberately trying to sink herself. She fought against the natural rhythm her legs wanted to follow when kicking and instead bent her knees and slapped the tops of her feet on the water.

Between the triple translating and deliberately sabotaging her own swimming efforts, Emily was exhausted by the time class ended. This exhaustion quickly dissipated as she and Alice talked about their upcoming movie trip. They still had an hour before the movie started so Alice's nanny was going to take them to get some food.

.oOo.

"Fame! I'm gonna live forever!" The four girls sang as they filed out of the movie theater. Stacey tried to twirl in a circle proving Gina's earlier skepticism correct. Alice held on to Emily's hand and swung their arms back and forth. Stacey's older sister was outside waiting to take her and Gina home, and Emily was getting a ride from Alice's nanny since Ifra had the day off.

Alice kept holding on to Emily's hand during the car ride. Emily's hand felt warm and tingly and there was a flutter of excitement in her chest. Alice holding her hand was real proof that they were friends. Maybe Alice felt it, too since she didn't seem to be letting go. Emily couldn't believe how lucky she was. From a swimming standpoint, the swim lessons were probably wasted now that she was in the group that was learning skills that she had mastered in preschool. But Alice wanted to be her friend both in swim class and at school. And out at the movies and sitting in the car. Emily was willing to take that over learning how to do the butterfly stroke any time.

.oOo.

Two months later, they were halfway through with the swim lessons so it was time to do re-testing to see if anyone would move up into a different group. Emily had been careful to not make too many improvements too quickly over the last few weeks. One day when they were practicing floating Emily had accidently forgotten that she didn't know how to kick, so she was a little ahead of the rest of her group. For testing day many of the girls' mothers were there to watch. Emily saw Ifra sitting in the parent section and waved shyly.

Much to her surprise, Emily saw her mother walk onto the pool deck. She had no idea the Ambassador would be coming to her lesson today. She watched as her mother approached the teacher and after a few moments walked over to where Ifra was sitting and sat down next to her.

Emily was huddled with the other girls waiting for the testing to start. The teacher motioned to Emily to get into the pool. Emily nodded to herself, realizing that the Ambassador probably needed to get somewhere important. And generally what Ambassador Prentiss wants, Ambassador Prentiss gets.

The teacher started off with the basics that the beginner group had been working on: front float, back float, kicking, and kicking while blowing bubbles. Emily was so excited about her mother being there to watch her that she forgot that she didn't know how to do all that.

It was clear Emily's teacher was pleased with her student's progress. But Emily really surprised all the teachers when she started to swim the crawl back to the wall. After seeing that, her teacher had her demonstrate the arm movements and breathing of the front crawl. As Emily kept performing each stroke with ease, her teacher would ask for the next one. Soon Emily had swum two lengths of the pool demonstrating the front crawl, backstroke, breaststroke, and sidestroke. When Emily swam up to the wall after finishing she saw the looks of shock on her teachers' and fellow students' faces. Alice actually had her mouth open in surprise.

Emily's eyes widened as she realized what she had just done.

"Great improvement!" her teacher said loudly. "You move to the high level."

Emily smiled and waved at her mother, who was already making her way out of the pool. Ifra gave her a big smile and a wave.

Emily went back to sit by Alice, a little scared at what her friend was going to think.

"Holy moly, Em," Alice exclaimed. "That was amazing! Last week you couldn't even kick with your face in the water."

Alice's expression changed as though she'd just figured something out. "Wait a sec, did you know how to do all that the whole time?"

Emily could feel her cheeks redden and she diverted all energy to keep from crying. She knew she was busted. She nodded and looked down, not wanting to see Alice's reaction.

"How come you pretended you couldn't swim?" Alice asked.

Emily swallowed hard and started picking at her fingernails. "Well, on the first day I saw that you couldn't swim and so I thought…"

"Well, I thought it would be better if we were in the same group," Emily finished quickly.

Alice took her hand. "You are one crazy cat, you know that? I would've been okay without you."

Emily looked up; this was not the reaction she had expected. She had expected Alice to be mad and think that she was a pathetic loser who would fake not being able to swim just to be in the same swim group together.

"I guess I'm just going to have to work even harder so I can get up to your group the next time," Alice told her. "And I guess I'm going to have to learn more Arabic."

Emily smiled and shrugged. "That's probably a good idea anyway."

.oOo.

Even though they weren't in the same group any more, Alice and Emily still spent every second before and after class talking. Alice still teased Emily once and a while about faking her inability to swim, and Emily joked about Alice's frequent gaffes while speaking Arabic.

"You see, I was really just trying to keep you from embarrassing yourself," Emily joked when Alice told her that she had asked the teacher if she could jump off the couch, instead of off the side of the pool at swim lessons that day.

Overall, fifth grade was definitely the best year yet. Emily even had her first birthday party. Her father took her, Alice, Gina, and Stacey to see _Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back_ at the Cineplex and then they had a sleepover. Alice and Stacey both had sleepovers for their birthdays, too. For Gina's birthday, her dad taught them how to make pizzas and toss the dough in the air.

At school, Emily earned top honors in Math, Arabic, Science, and Language Arts. The Ambassador was naturally disappointed that she did not get the Social Studies honors. Best of all, she won the Most Improved Award at swim lessons; Alice and Emily laughed for a long time about that one.

.oOo.

A few weeks after the school year had ended, her mother received notification that she was being reassigned to Syria. A new President meant new assignments all around.

"I'm not going," Emily told her mother when she heard the news.

"I'm sorry Emily, but it's not as though I can leave you at the Embassy with a note with care instructions for the next Ambassador," her mother said lightly.

"I'm not joking," Emily said, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not going."

"I don't like that tone of voice, young lady. Unfortunately, you don't have a choice. I don't have a choice where I get assigned to, so you don't get a choice about moving. Besides, this is a huge opportunity for me. It's an honor that President Reagan is putting me in such a politically tenuous country."

"I don't care. I hate moving! I hate going to a new school, learning a new language. I hate piano lessons. I hate painting lessons. I hate your stupid dinner parties. I hate that your secretary calls me to make arrangements for us to see each other. I hate all of this!" Emily was yelling, mostly because she knew that if she stopped yelling, she would start crying.

_Never show someone how much something means to you. It makes you vulnerable and powerless._

Apparently just _having_ something that means a lot you is enough to make you vulnerable and powerless. Emily had never cared about moving before. Mostly because she figured the next place couldn't be much worse than the present. But that wasn't true anymore. She had friends here. She fit in. She didn't want to start over.

"You need to calm down, Emily." Her mother spoke in a soft, calm voice that made Emily even more angry. "Besides, you don't have to learn another language. They speak Arabic in Syria."

"Well then, never mind," Emily said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It appears I've gotten upset over nothing."

Emily paused briefly to consider her next words. "Here's a news flash _Ambassador_, you have no clue what it's like to finally fit in and have friends for the first time and be happy. You're taking all that away and you don't even fucking care."

"Emily Caroline Prentiss, watch your language," her mother reprimanded.

"Really, mother? _Fuck_ was the only word you heard?" Emily asked incredulously. She felt like she was going to explode. "That's why I hate you!"

Emily turned and walked upstairs to her room. As she got to the bottom of the stairs she turned around. "I would have said, _I fucking hate you_, but I wanted to be sure you heard the _I hate you_ part."

When Emily got to her room she realized she was breathing hard. She had never admitted to her mother that she didn't have friends before. Her mother had never really asked much and whenever she did, Emily usually made up names and identities for the fictitious kids she played with on the playground or worked with on a book report.

She paced back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe she could stay with Ifra. Or maybe stay at Alice's house; they had three extra bedrooms. Or she could run away and see if people really would pay her to translate back and forth and she could buy her own house and stay in Egypt by herself.

As she was plotting her next move, there was a knock at the door.

"What do you want, Mother," Emily said without opening the door.

Emily's mother opened the door. "I wanted to remind you that Counselors Jameson, Hawkins, and Wells and their families are coming for dinner. They will be arriving about thirty minutes. I expect to see you downstairs, washed up, and dressed appropriately by 6:20 sharp."

Emily just rolled her eyes and stared at her mother until she left, closing the door behind her. She knew that her conversation with her mother was over, and doubted that the Ambassador would give it another thought. Emily sighed and flopped back onto her bed, resigning herself to the fact that she had no power in this situation. On a deeper level she ever understood that her mother really didn't have a choice in the matter, but some small acknowledgement of the effects this move would have on Emily would have been nice.

She swallowed hard; she would not start crying about this. It was time to put on her happy Prentiss politics face and suffer through hours of intolerable conversations about who should build what where and how the price of gold alters buying capacity. She tried to avoid socializing with the diplomats' children, who for the most part acted stuck-up and entitled. The Wells brothers resented that Emily's mom was their dad's boss and were generally successful at turning the other children against her, especially Counselor Hawkin's daughter, who seemed to make her goal to make Emily's life miserable. It used to be worse at school, but when Alice, Gina and Stacey were around, Melaney Hawkins backed off.

At 6:19 Emily walked downstairs wearing one of her dresses that was far too fancy for the evening. She knew that it would irritate her mother that she was wearing one of her best dresses for a simple dinner party. And that was the point. She went to the sitting room where her mother was waiting.

"Don't worry, Mother, I'll be sure to watch my language this evening," Emily promised. "But just so that you can watch it too, you should know that every time I say _sir _or _ma'am_, in my head I'm saying_ screw you, asshole_."

Emily was glad to hear that the guests were starting to arrive because it meant her mother didn't have the opportunity to respond.

.oOo.

Emily barely spoke to her mother in the next few weeks; in fact it was frustrating to Emily how little effort she needed to exert in order to ignore her mother. She's not even sure if the Ambassador noticed. Though she did derive great pleasure in declining all social engagements that had been arranged by her mother's secretary. She claimed that she had a scheduling conflict. Emphasis on the conflict.

When Emily told Alice the news, Emily was actually relieved to see that Alice was as upset as she was. "Ugh! That's so not fair!" she exclaimed. "Because two days ago my dad said that his company gave him a three-year contract here. Three years in the same place! Except not the same as you. That sucks!"

"But that's so good for you," Emily assured her, a little jealous about the prospect that Alice knew where she was going to be for the next three years. "Though you're totally going to have to learn a few more phrases besides 'how much does that cost?' and 'I'd like two scoops of chocolate ice cream.'"

Alice laughed. "I can also say 'hello', 'good-bye', and 'thank you'."

"Well, then, I stand corrected, I'm sure you'll be fine," Emily joked.

They hugged and cried and promised they'd write each other and talk on the phone.

They ended up calling each other at least once a week. Emily's father joked that he had expected to have another two years before having to deal with the phone habits of a teenager. About nine months after Emily had moved to Syria, Alice told her that her father was going to be transferred again, back to Switzerland.

"I guess it'll be ok," Alice told Emily. "Besides it's not as fun here anymore without you."

"But you want to know the worst thing?" Alice added. "I finally got fluent in Arabic!"

Emily laughed. She knew the feeling. After only being in Turkey for a year and a half, she felt like the minute she figured things out, they were already packing to move again.

"And when I complained about learning Arabic for nothing, my mom piped up and said that at least I didn't have to learn another new language when we moved to Switzerland."

"When my mother said the same thing when she told me we were moving to Syria, I dropped a few f-bombs and stormed up to my room," Emily admitted.

"I just threw my Arabic textbook at my mom," Alice told her. "Luckily for me I suck as much at throwing as I do at swimming."

Emily couldn't help but agree with Alice on that point.

* * *

><p>I apologize for anything that got lost in translation (or transliteration).<p>

_**Glossary:**_

Lek! Fey melabes alesbahh alesweda'. Lemada tethedtheyn? You! In the black swimsuit. Why are you talking?

Ana asef ya m'elem. I'm sorry, Teacher.

Kent terjemh lesdeyqey. Anha la tethedth al'erebyh. I was translating for my friend. She doesn't speak Arabic.

Mewafeq, walefteyat. Weswef nebda alakhetbar. Ok, girls. Let's start the tests.


	7. 2007: Washington, DC

A/N: Thanks to _**kdzl**_ for the beta and encouragement.

A/N 2: This chapter is for _**LastRefuge**_ who I promised that I would post this as soon as the next chapter of _Nowhere to Hide_ was posted. It's an awesome story, you should check it out. So I guess it's a win-win situation for everyone.

A/N 3: Thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favoriting, and alerting. You rock!

**2007 – Washington, D.C.**

Emily barely made it through her front door before the tears started to fall. All of the anger, guilt, shame, and doubt that she had been bottling up for the last month came pouring out in a deluge of tears and sobs. She had messed up the case and now Hotch was paying the price. It was her fault that he'd been suspended. She felt sick to her stomach when she realized that perhaps he would come to think she had made the mistake on purpose.

"_I put you in the BAU. I knew how badly you wanted it, everyone did. You were never exactly shy about letting us know…"_

Hotch was right. It had been a mistake. Strauss had put on her on the team because her last name was Prentiss, not because she had taken the classes, aced the exam, and had proven herself effective and efficient in the field. But because she was Elizabeth Prentiss's daughter and everyone knew that those Prentiss women were master manipulators when it came to the game of politics.

Strauss didn't give a damn about how hard Emily worked, how badly she wanted this position, or whether she was qualified to be on the team based on her merits. She only cared about Emily being her stoolpigeon.

"_It's time for Agent Hotchner's career to come to an end. And if you want to stay in the BAU, Agent Prentiss, you're going to help me make that happen."_

Emily felt dizzy as she thought about the fact that she _did_ help make that happen, but it was due to her own stupidity, rather than being a malicious participant in Hotch's downfall. Emily tried to slow her breathing down; now that her sobs were subsiding, she was breathing like a three-year-old after a temper tantrum.

Emily stood up and ran her hands over her face. At that moment, there was nothing that Emily wanted more than a hot bath. She stripped off her shirt and slacks as she made her way up the stairs. She didn't even bother to wait for the tub to fill; as soon as the warm water started to flow, she sat down.

Hot baths had been Emily's way of coping with difficult cases since she was fresh out of the Academy. Emily was glad that her water bill was covered under her condo fees because her hot water utilization had increased exponentially since starting at the BAU. Emily liked to picture that the water could seep in and absorb all the horrible images and knowledge of human depravity that had built up over the course of the case, covering her in a film of disgust. She then washed the feelings of horror and revulsion down the drain with peppermint-scented body wash. To Emily, peppermint smelled like starting over.

Emily sat back and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the water slowly covering her and trying to escape into its warmth. As hard as she tried, she couldn't get the case out of her head.

"_Are you going to shoot me?"_

Emily had mistaken the quiver in Anna Bagley's voice for fear.

"_Nobody's going to shoot you."_

She was trying to provide the frightened co-ed with reassurance. If she had considered the profile, she would have realized Anna wasn't looking for reassurance, she was looking for a way out. She had pinned her hopes on Tubbs and when he couldn't come through for her, Anna turned to Morgan and Emily. She _wanted_ suicide by cop. It wasn't until Emily saw her turn the knife on herself that she realized she had completely misread the situation.

_Dammit! I should have shot her in the arm!_ Emily slapped the surface of the water and thought it appropriate when the drops stung her eyes and nose. _Why didn't I just shoot her in the arm?_

Emily berated herself for pushing Anna to a self-inflicted knife wound. A wound that was not only fatal to Anna, but also life-threatening to Hotch's future in the FBI.

"_You mysteriously showed up at the BAU after one of my team members was involved in a questionable shooting…I will not put up with a political agenda."_

If only Hotch had known at the time that it would be her incompetence as a profiler, rather than her participation in a nefarious political plot, that would be his undoing.

Emily sighed, this bath was not working its usual magic. The water felt stagnant and the peppermint reminded her of candy canes from last year's Christmas Tree: stale and unsatisfying. After getting out of the tub she leaned against the vanity as she saw the edges of her vision darken. Too little sleep, too much hot water, and not eating tended to have that effect. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost seven o'clock. Her day had begun over fifteen hours ago and she was starting to feel it. While sleeping seemed like the most appealing option, her rumbling stomach made a strong case for dinner.

She threw on her pajamas and went down to the kitchen to make dinner. She chuckled bitterly as she almost took a header down the stairs after tripping over her slacks. _Damn karma_.

With the amount of take-out and diner food she consumed while on cases, Emily tried to avoid it at all costs when she was in D.C. She took a container of homemade chili out of the freezer and while it was heating up, she searched her pantry and was pleased to note she had the ingredients to make cornbread. Emily settled herself on the couch with her chili, cornbread, and _Battlestar Galactica_, and found the warmth and comfort she was looking for.

.oOo.

The following week at work was nearly impossible to bear. Her chest tightened every time she looked up at the empty offices of Hotch and Gideon. The two most senior profilers on the team were paying for her mistake. Emily looked down at the file she was supposed to be reviewing and almost gave in to the urge to put her head down on her desk.

Just as she was about to lower her forehead onto her desk, she heard a chime from her computer alerting her to a new message on Outlook.

_Meeting: 1530 with Section Chief Erin Strauss. Location: Her office._

When she saw Morgan turn suddenly to look at her, she realized she must have groaned out loud.

"Everything ok there, Princess?" he asked.

"Yeah," she assured him. "I've had this headache all day and it's just not going away." It wasn't entirely a lie; the prospect of meeting with Strauss in half an hour really did make her head hurt.

"Do you need anything?" he offered. "I have some ibuprofen in my drawer."

"No thanks. I already tried some and now in addition to my headache, I also have an upset stomach." Another part-truth, except it was Strauss that had her stomach churning.

"You should go home," Morgan insisted.

Emily pondered that notion for a moment. She could certainly sneak out of the BAU after her meeting with Strauss since her office was on the other side of the elevators. That would also allow her to avoid being asked any questions about where she disappeared to.

"You know, I think I will," she said, nodding. She couldn't help but laugh at the look of frantic concern on his face. He obviously didn't actually expect her to take him up on that suggestion.

"Don't worry, Morgan, it's not like I have an aneurysm or anything," Emily told him, trying reassure him.

"Actually, it's nearly impossible to tell who is at risk for the development of a cerebral aneurysm," Reid said, coming into the conversation.

"Really?" Emily said in a voice of mock fascination. She appreciated the levity Reid's fact-spouting brought to the conversation, despite the subject matter. "I stand corrected. Morgan, I don't _think_ I have an aneurysm, but I'm unable to completely eliminate the possibility."

"Would you describe this as the worst headache you've ever had? Did it feel like it came on like a 'thunderclap'?" he asked, using finger quotes.

"You realize she was kidding, right?" Morgan asked Reid.

"Aneurysms can be deadly without immediate care by a skilled neurosurgeon," Reid said defensively. "Time is brain."

"Thank you, Dr. Reid, for that very important P.S.A.," Morgan said, shaking his head and turning back to his work.

"Thanks Reid, I appreciate your concern, but I think this is just a run-of-the-mill migraine. Nothing a little caffeine and sleep can't fix," Emily assured him, putting her things away so she could sneak away after her meeting with Strauss.

.oOo.

Emily sighed as she sat in the chair in Strauss's office. Nothing good ever came from sitting in that chair and all evidence pointed to the fact that today would be no exception. Emily knew that Strauss had planned this meeting days ago and only gave her a half hour's notice to deliberately throw her off. Nobody expects the Strauss Inquisition.

"So, Agent Prentiss, what is your assessment regarding how the unit is functioning the absence of both Agents Gideon and Hotchner?" Strauss asked, pulling a notebook out from her desk.

"It's hard to say, ma'am," Emily said, trying to keep her voice even. She had expected this conversation would happen eventually but that didn't make it easier to deal with it.

"We haven't had any field cases since Flagstaff. Mostly the team has been working on consults and reviews."

"With regards to those case files, now that it is no longer Agent Hotchner apportioning those assignments, do you feel that the workload is more evenly distributed?" Strauss pressed.

"More evenly distributed than what?" Emily asked, fairly certain of the answer.

"What I am asking, Agent Prentiss, is do you feel as though the workload in the BAU is divided equally between its members?"

"I think so, ma'am, but I don't know all the details of the workloads of Agents Reid and Morgan," Emily said.

"Are you saying that Agent Hotchner has not been transparent with regards to the work assigned to each agent?" Strauss asked while jotting a few notes down in her book.

"No ma'am, that's not what I'm saying," Emily started picking at her fingernails as a way to let off some of her irritation. "Agent Jareau does most of the in-office consult and review allocations since they come across her desk first. And in the field Agent Hotchner is adept at assigning us roles based on our strengths and skills."

"So, once you have demonstrated proficiency in a certain area, Agent Hotchner limits your field activities to a given task?" Emily couldn't believe Strauss's dexterity at twisting her words.

Emily let out a long breath. She was woefully unprepared for this meeting and it was clear that irrespective of her answers, Strauss was determined to frame the conversation to fit her agenda. She'd already screwed things up for Hotch and Gideon once, she may as well try to salvage something this time. But she needed time to think. To plan.

"I apologize, ma'am, but I'm not feeling well. I've had a headache all day long and I have over an hour's drive to get home," Emily said, not having to fake the exhaustion and pain in her voice. "Perhaps we can reschedule for tomorrow afternoon?"

Strauss looked at Emily for a moment without saying anything. "Very well then, Agent Prentiss, we can resume tomorrow at one o'clock."

"Feel better," Strauss added in a perfunctory manner. Emily was fairly certain that Strauss neither believed her nor gave a damn about how she felt.

"Thank you, ma'am." Emily grabbed her things and tried to get out of the building as quickly as possible.

.oOo.

For the first time in recent memory, Emily actually felt rested when she got up to turn off her alarm. This was no wonder since she'd gotten nearly twelve hours of sleep. Last evening the universe appeared to be invested in keeping Emily honest because by time she got home, her head felt like there was a kick drum concert behind her eyes. The last thing she remembered after she crawled into bed was hoping that sleep would come quickly. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful that she had been given a reprieve last night.

Despite her night of restorative sleep, the ache that had settled into her stomach when she received the notice about her meeting with Strauss hadn't dissipated. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to stay calm when she realized she had less than seven hours before her meeting with Strauss and she hadn't had time to come up with her game plan.

Just as the panic was beginning to well up, Emily remembered that she had already given herself an out. Morgan, Reid, and Strauss all knew she left early because of a headache. Just because she didn't have one anymore didn't mean she couldn't use it as an excuse to get herself together.

She called JJ and Morgan to let them know and asked JJ to inform Straus that she wouldn't be coming in to the office. She made her way downstairs to begin her day of introspection and decisions with a breakfast of French toast with her famous strawberry sauce.

Two loads of laundry, two clean bathrooms, and fully mopped kitchen floor later, Emily had managed to avoid thinking about the situation with Strauss. She was avoiding it because she already knew what her decision was going to be. She didn't belong in the BAU. She hadn't earned her position and she certainly didn't deserve to keep it.

She should have quit that day after her meeting with Strauss. But it was so hard to just walk away from the job that she had been working towards for the last seven years. She had managed to convince herself that she could handle Strauss, that she could juggle both sides. She could be a double agent. Or triple agent. She would simply store her dealings with Strauss in one folder and her role in the BAU in another. She could simply place the Strauss file in the back of her mind where eventually it would be forgotten about and deleted.

They weren't even halfway through their first case since her meeting with Strauss when she discovered the flaw in her filing system. She had tried to keep things separate, but when Strauss called during the case on the college campus, that was Emily's undoing. Strauss's call had thrown her off-guard and before she could right herself, she had already been distracted from the case.

"_Are you going to shoot me?"_

By time she and Morgan had rounded the corner, Tubbs had already been stabbed and as Emily watched the pool of blood rapidly expanding around him, she knew they needed to get in there quickly if there was any hope of saving him.

"_Nobody is going to shoot you."_

Emily wished she could say that her response was one made of haste, a careless slip that was the result of wanting to get to the bleeding UnSub before he bled out on the sidewalk. That it was simply failed round-about attempt to save Anna's life by ensuring she was tried for attempted murder instead of murder. With the right lawyer, perhaps the charge could have even been lessened to assault.

No, her response was deliberate; she was trying to dispel Anna's fear of being shot. When she should have realized Anna's greater fear was of _not_ being shot. The scene played over and over in her head.

"_Are you going to shoot me?"_

"_If you don't drop the knife – then yes, I will shoot you."_

Maybe that would have been the promise Anna needed to hear. While Emily had her distracted by thinking about the imminence of being shot, Morgan could have done the side approach and disarmed Anna in a matter of seconds.

"_Are you going to shoot me?"_

Emily didn't respond with words. She squeezed the trigger, recognizing Anna's desperate plea. Emily couldn't give her what she was looking for, but rather shot her in the shoulder, causing the knife to fall from her hand. Luckily the paramedics had already been alerted and both Tubbs and Anna survived.

Strauss's phone call reminded her that she wasn't a profiler, she was a political pawn. She didn't deserve to have the job she was doing. Strauss had said so herself.

"_But there were those who didn't think assigning you to the BAU was a good idea. They thought you were too reckless. I believed in you, however."_

The only thing Strauss believed in was that Emily was as willing as her mother to compromise her beliefs in order to get ahead. Emily wanted to get into the BAU, but she certainly didn't want it to be this way. So really, when it came down to it, her decision was easy. It was the next steps that were hard.

She could easily cash in on her last name and pedigree and follow in her mother's footsteps. A Prentiss taking the Foreign Service exam was merely a formality. It would be effortless to get an overseas posting and carry on the Prentiss name in the spirit of diplomacy. It would be a humiliating end to a specious career.

Emily stared out the window at the National Mall and let the tears fall. She had so much hope when she moved here. Now it felt like she'd just been living the last nine months on her most elaborate undercover job yet. It's just too bad that she didn't realize that she was the mark.

She wiped the tears from her eyes. She'd wallowed long enough and she was not going to let Strauss have this much power over her. She knew what she needed to do.

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><p>This chapter is part 1 of 2. So the next posting will be in the "present" instead of a flashback.<p> 


	8. 2007: Washington, DC part 2

**A/N:** Thanks to _**kdzl **_for the beta and encouragement

**A/N2:** I know I say this every chapter, but I really mean it. Thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favoriting, and alerting this story. Happiness is new notifications in my inbox.

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><p><strong>2007 – Washington, D.C.<strong>

The next morning, Emily put on her favorite lingerie, complete with thigh-high stockings and a garter belt. It made her feel sexy and powerful. She picked out her favorite power suit and paired it with a red shirt that she knew she looked fabulous in. She put on a little more make-up than usual and took the time to give her hair some waves. She completed the outfit with a pair of black boots that were usually reserved for third dates. This was her _damn the torpedoes_ approach to her upcoming meeting with Strauss.

"Morning Emily. You look, ah…well, you look…" Emily was amused at Reid's stammering. She could practically see the thoughts running through his head. _Do I tell her she looks good? If I say that, does it imply she normally doesn't look good because I don't normally tell her she looks good?_

"You look nice," he finished lamely.

"I believe _stone cold fox_ is the phrase you're looking for, Dr. Smarty-pants," Garcia said coming up behind them. "You've memorized the dictionary in what, seventeen languages and the only thing you could come up with was _nice_?"

Garcia pretended to lick her finger and touched Emily's shoulder, making a sizzling sound as she did. "Why the extra helping of hotness today?"

Emily was about to answer when she heard Morgan whistle at her. "Damn, woman. Damn."

"Really? Reid comes up with _nice_ and you come up with _damn_? It's no wonder you two are still single," Garcia admonished them. "Our girlfriend here is looking _hawt._"

Emily was starting to worry that she had perhaps gone a little too far. She didn't quite mean to draw quite this much attention to herself. She shrugged and tried to play it off lightly.

"After wearing my pajamas for the last thirty-six hours straight, I just needed a change," she explained.

"Well, mission accomplished, hot stuff," Morgan said, flashing her a smile.

She was going to miss this. She was going to miss them. She was even going to miss the pile of paperwork on her desk.

She sat down to get started with her work. There was no way she was going to leave any unfinished consults or reports. She deliberately didn't change her out-of-office reply on her Outlook account in order to force Strauss to come out and find her personally to arrange the meeting.

Sure enough, by mid-morning Strauss made her appearance in the bullpen.

"Agent Prentiss, I trust you are feeling better?" Strauss asked when she approached Emily's desk.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for your concern."

"Two o'clock, my office," Strauss said curtly. "I believe there are still some things to discuss."

"Yes, ma'am. However, could we push the meeting back until three? I've got a conference call at that time with the one of the detectives for the case in Sacramento that I've been working on." Emily's conference call was actually at twelve-thirty, but she wasn't about to let Strauss make the rules today.

"Very well, then, Agent Prentiss. Three o'clock, my office." Strauss turned around before Emily could even respond.

Looking around at the files on her desk, Emily felt relieved. She only had two cases to review and the Sacramento consult to finish up. It was definitely a manageable workload to get done by three o'clock.

Emily was concentrating fervently on finishing up the last few details on the profile for the serial rapist in Sacramento when JJ came up to her desk.

"What are your plans for lunch?" JJ asked.

"Well, I'm talking with Detective Rodriguez at 12:30," Emily told her. "And I've got these two reviews to finish before I meet with Strauss at three."

"What are you meeting with Strauss about?"

Emily shrugged, trying to look casual. She had come up with her explanation last night and had told it to herself in her head so many times that it almost felt like the truth.

"I guess they lost one of their translators in C.T. so there's a backlog of transcripts in Turkish," Emily said easily. "At least I don't have to worry about too much free time."

JJ frowned. "Well, all the more reason to break out of here for an hour. We can wait until your call is finished."

"No, no, I need to finish all this," Emily said, not bothering to hide the disappointment in her voice. The truth was that she probably could spare the time to go to lunch with JJ, but it would just be too hard. She needed to think of it as leaving a job; she didn't want to be reminded that she was leaving her friends, too.

"Are you sure?" Emily nodded. "Well then, you'll just have to let me steal you away from your translating and buy you a beer sometime this weekend."

"Sure thing," Emily said, smiling. "It's too bad I learned Turkish when I was six. Because any time I have a glass of wine or two, I can speak Italian like a native. You know, that whole theory of learning that you do something better under the circumstances that you learned it in."

"I thought you were in Italy in high school," JJ said, the surprise evident in her voice.

Emily just nodded. "I was."

"Emily Prentiss, there is a lot to learn about you." JJ was smiling and shaking her head. "So we're on for tomorrow or Sunday?"

"I'll call you," Emily assured her. She watched JJ go back to her office, sorry that probably the last thing she ever said to her friend was a lie.

.oOo.

Emily stood outside of Strauss's office. She took a deep breath and tried to slow down her heart. _Damn the torpedoes, Prentiss. Full speed ahead._

She opened the door and walked in without knocking. Emily was in control of this meeting and she was going to let Strauss know it from the start.

"Agent Prentiss, please sit down," Strauss motioned to Emily who had already crossed the room and was getting settled in the seat of bad news.

"Ma'am." Emily had decided to revert to one of the games she used to play when she was a kid. At the big political parties and dinners where Emily was made to play the part of the diplomat's well-behaved daughter, she decided to give an alternate meaning to the words _sir_ and _ma'am_ in her mind. It amused her to no end whenever someone complimented her manners to her parents because the whole time Emily had been secretly walking around the room calling them _asshat_ or _shithead_.

Today's word was _crazy-psycho-bitch_.

"So, Agent Prentiss, I believe we were discussing workload distribution among the agents in your team."

"Yes, ma'am. I think Agent Hotchner is quite skilled at assigning us our roles in the field. Each of us clearly has our strengths and Agent Hotchner knows how to utilize them to best solve the case," Emily told her.

"Well, reading over several of the case reports, it appears that Dr. Reid hasn't been given adequate opportunity to interrogate potential suspects. But rather Agent Gideon seems to have taken on that role. And that it is frequently you and Agent Morgan who are forced into the front lines much to your potential peril," Strauss stated, glancing down at her notebook every so often.

"What you're saying is true. However, Agent Hotchner's assignments are based on what the case requires. He's not cherry-picking for Agent Gideon." It was amazing to Emily how Strauss was grasping at straws.

"After all, ma'am, if we were to walk onto a case and Agent Hotchner assigned Reid to interview the sixteen-year-old rape victim, Morgan to work out the geographic profile, and me to interrogate the sexual sadist, I guarantee the case would not go very smoothly."

Emily saw a brief look of confusion on Strauss's face.

"Ma'am, do you know what it is that we do in the field?" Emily asked.

"My experience in the field is not what is in question here, Agent Prentiss," Strauss said sharply. "You would do well to remember that."

Emily knew she had hit a nerve.

"Think of it this way, after a U2 concert, no one is going to walk out of the show thinking, _Wow, they really had Bono singing far too many of the songs. And why didn't they give The Edge a chance on the drums?_" Emily tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Agent Prentiss." It was clear Strauss was not pleased.

"Ma'am?" Emily said, calmly, almost innocently.

"Tell me more about your knowledge of Agent Greenaway," Strauss said, quickly changing the subject.

"I don't know her ma'am, she had already left the team a few weeks before I started."

"Did any of the other agents in your unit discuss her departure?" Strauss pressed.

"Not really."

"Not really?"

"No, ma'am, I did not hear any discussions about Agent Greenaway or the circumstances of her leaving the team." Of course Emily had heard the rumors about the shooting in Dayton, and it didn't take a profiler to find the timing of the shooting and her resignation suspect. But Emily didn't know the details and was not about to feed Strauss's need to find faults in the BAU.

"Agent Prentiss, need I remind you of our meeting last month?" Emily was almost relieved that Strauss was going to finally just own up to her agenda rather than asking baiting questions.

"Yes, ma'am, I remember." She decided to switch from _crazy-psycho-bitch_ to _motherfucking-megalomaniac_. Emily appreciated the alliteration.

"I've noticed that throughout our meetings, you only refer to us as 'a unit'. Therein lies the problem," Emily said. Strauss looked like she was about to say something, but Emily looked straight at her and continued.

"If you've paid attention to what I've said, I very specifically use the word _team_. Because that's what we are. Individually speaking, Reid is brilliant; Morgan's focus on bringing in the UnSub is laser sharp; and JJ handles the maze of the media, local LEOs, and the victims' families with unparalleled poise. Agent Gideon has an amazing ability to read people and situations. Garcia provides us with information and levity with equal deftness.

"But the most essential thing to this team is the leadership provided by Agent Hotchner. Having a team of such brilliant and capable members requires a leader who knows how to capitalize on everyone's strengths without setting up at atmosphere of competition."

Emily watched as Strauss crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips were pursed shut in a tight line.

"I'm not sure I understand the point of this soliloquy of yours, Agent Prentiss." It was obvious from her body language that she very clearly understood Emily's message.

"The point is, _ma'am_, I have great respect for my team and trust our leader implicitly and with my life," Emily said.

"Is that so, Agent?" Strauss asked, leaning forward on her desk. "Because if I recall correctly that your trust in Agent Hotchner was misplaced in the Flagstaff case. A young gentleman and a co-ed lost their lives based on _Agent_ _Hotchner's _decision."

"It's offensive that you called Tubbs a gentleman. He was most likely the killer, not some innocent bystander. Anna Bagley, as ill as she was and as sad as it is, was also a killer. She killed one of her classmates and she stabbed Tubbs." Emily ran her hands over her thighs and felt the lace of her thigh highs. It gave her an extra boost of confidence to continue.

"So please don't insult my intelligence by trying to frame the situation that Agent Hotchner recklessly had two innocent people slaughtered due to an ill-conceived decision," Emily said. She wasn't only defending Hotch, she was forgiving herself.

"We're profilers, not psychics. Not every human action can be broken down and predicted," Emily took a deep breath before striking her final blow.

"So to answer your question,_ ma'am_. Yes, my trust in Agent Hotchner's ability to lead this team is absolute and unwavering. But my confidence regarding _your_ leadership skills has been completely eroded. It would appear that _your_ _faith_ in me was as misplaced as _my_ _trust_ in you."

Emily stood up.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have reports to finishing filing. _Ma'am_." Emily nodded her head slightly and turned and walked out of Strauss's office before the Section Chief even had an opportunity to respond.

Emily's hands were shaking and she felt like she couldn't take in a deep breath. She slipped into the bathroom down the hall and leaned heavily against the wall. She had done it. Her career in the BAU was over. She knew Strauss wasn't going to reveal what really happened, but would certainly see to it that Emily was never going to work in the FBI again. It was time to resign on her own volition rather than being forced to do so. She would wait until Hotch's return on Monday to inform him and the team of her decision.

Emily took a few deep breaths and walked out of the bathroom with false bravado. She walked back to her desk to grab her things.

"So, Princess, what are you doing tonight?" Morgan asked.

"What do you mean?"

"It's Friday night. Are you really dressed that way so you can just go home and watch _Dr. Who_ reruns?" Morgan asked. "Come on, give it up. Who are you dressed up for?"

"I told you, it was just a change from pajamas," Emily told him. If it were any other day Emily would have teased him back, dropping salacious hints about her fictional weekend plans. But today was her last day at the BAU and she didn't want to remember how much she was going to miss her teammates. Her former teammates.

She glanced over and saw JJ in her office. A lump formed in Emily's throat. She knew she wouldn't be able to walk into her office without breaking down. It was like when kids fall down on the playground, but don't start crying until their moms come into view.

"Hey Morgan." Emily cleared her throat, her voice thicker than she had expected. "Do you think you can drop these files off when you hand in yours?"

"Sure thing," he said holding out his hand. "So you're really not going to give it up, huh."

Emily just shook her head.

"Sorry, Morgan." And she was. For everything.

"I'm heading out," she said, taking a letter out of her desk drawer. "Have a great weekend. You, too, Reid." She gave them a brief smile and wave before heading out.

She stepped into the elevator and watched as the BAU disappeared between the doors. She stopped by the Director's office and handed her letter of resignation to his secretary, who assured her that he would get her letter before the end of business day. She walked out of the office building with only a few bureaucratic procedures standing between her and unemployment.

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><p><strong>One last AN:** I wanted to get a sense from everyone who is reading this story regarding preferences for "past chapters" versus "present chapters". Do you prefer one over the other? Would you prefer to see a different ratio of present versus past (e.g., two present chapters for every past one)? I have most of the story plotted out already and can easily manipulate chapter order and number. Feel free to let me know via review or PM if you have an opinion one way or the other. Thanks!


	9. 1986: Rome, Italy

A/N: This chapter, as its title would suggest, covers Emily's time in Rome when she was 15, so the issues of teen pregnancy and abortion are addressed. This is the first a several chapter arc covering this time in Emily's life. By popular demand, there will be present chapters interspersed.

A/N2: Thanks again to all those who read, review, favorite and alert - to simply say you're awesome is an understatement.

Many thanks to**_ nikonic_**, who is both a fantastic writer and beta.

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><p><strong>1986 – Rome, Italy<strong>

For what seemed like the hundredth time in the last four weeks, Emily found herself running to the bathroom, barely making it in time. Her stomach muscles ached from spending the previous mornings retching and vomiting. She had worked out a system: sleep with hair in a ponytail, left arm wrapped around stomach, right elbow on the toilet seat, and right hand on forehead. After her usual ten minutes of throwing up, she stood up, flushed the toilet, washed her face, brushed her teeth and proceeded to get ready for school. She missed the bus twice last week and nearly did so yesterday. If she arrived today at the bus stop at 7:29 and out of breath, it would only give her classmates fodder for gossip.

Emily had stupidly thought that the morning sickness would stop once she confirmed that she was pregnant. It took more than two weeks of nausea, breast tenderness, and exhaustion for her to figure out what could be causing her symptoms. It took her another week to actually work up the courage to buy a home pregnancy test. Ultimately she ended up working up the courage to _steal_ a home pregnancy test because she couldn't face the store clerk. She kept the box under her mattress for another three days before she took the step to actually pee on the stick.

Two pink lines appeared, two lines that suddenly split Emily's life into _before_ and _after. _Everything that she had planned _before_ disappeared into those two pink lines. _After _just looked like a long, dark, unending tunnel. She would never be the person her family expected her to be. Worse, she would never be the person _she_ expected to become.

All she wanted to do was put the situation out of her mind, but she was still running to the bathroom and vomiting every morning and was still falling asleep at eight o'clock at night. Perhaps now those symptoms continued solely as a nagging reminder that this problem wasn't going to go away on its own. Her parents, who always seemed to be at meetings, away on business trips, or just working late at the office, had been around even less over the last few weeks. Days went by that Emily didn't see or talk to either of her parents.

Her father's sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer shortly before Christmas, so he had gone back to Belgium to spend time with his family and help take care of her kids. Her mother was busy with the recent attacks at the Rome and Vienna airports. It had been nearly a month of constant meetings; important phone calls; dinners with other diplomats; and trips to Austria, Israel, and Libya.

Emily was initially relieved to have space to deal with finding out she was pregnant. Now that the news had sunk in, Emily just felt alone. There were times when she was hunched over the toilet that all Emily wanted was to be four years old again. That was back when her mom put cool washcloths on her forehead and rubbed soothing circles on her back. But since her mother had started her overseas postings, it had been a series of nannies and housekeepers that took care of Emily when she was sick.

Emily arrived at the bus stop a full ten minutes before the bus was due to arrive. She had grabbed a roll on her way out and was picking at it as she walked over to where Suzanne and Matthew were waiting.

"You look like shit." Suzanne had never been one to hold back her opinion.

"I was up late finishing the essay for history," Emily replied. History was the one class she didn't have with either of them.

Matthew gave her a look letting her know that he didn't believe her.

"Really? Because you look like you're going to barf," Suzanne said.

"Well, if you must know, I got my period last night, and my cramps are killing me," Emily said, her voice breaking a little on the word _period_. She wished that were the problem.

"Wow, Em, quite the over-share," Suzanne said with a look of disgust. Matthew just looked horrified.

"You're the one who pushed it," Emily retorted.

"Well, I hope you're feeling well enough for the Chemistry test. I didn't really study for it because I was counting on you," Suzanne told her as the bus pulled up. Emily had no illusions about the fact that Suzanne cared more about the Chemistry quiz than her health.

Emily sighed as she climbed the stairs to the bus. She had been awake less than an hour, and already she was exhausted.

.oOo.

"Hey Goods, are you sure you're ok?" Matthew asked as he sat down next to her during free period.

Emily could feel tears pricking her eyes when he called her by the nickname he'd given her. It started as Em, which had progressed to Mm Mm Good, and was eventually shortened to Goods. No one had ever given her a nickname before. Sure, people called her Em all the time, but she always thought that was out of lassitude and not bothering to pronounce the other syllables. But Matthew had given her an honest-to-goodness, legitimate nickname; it made her feel like she belonged.

Emily forced herself to smile. "Yeah, I'm ok. I'm just tired, that's all."

"Is it about you and John?" he asked. "Because things have been weird the last few weeks."

Emily tried to remain nonchalant as she shrugged.

"You know the saying that you can fool all of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time?" Matthew said, putting his hand on hers. "Well, consider me not fooled."

"Really, I'll be fine," Emily assured him. "It's just been crazy this last month with my father being in Belgium and my mother dealing with all that stuff from the attack at the airport. It's weird, you know? They're hardly ever around anyway, but now that they're _really_ not around I actually kinda miss them."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Even though her parents were never really around even when they were around, but she actually missed the few-and-far-between family dinners and the brief moments she would see her mother or father at home. She had read somewhere that being pregnant made women emotional, so she blamed her near-constant urge to cry on that.

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?" Matthew offered. "Antonia always makes enough food to feed a family of ten, so I'm sure it won't be a problem."

"Really?" she asked, her voice thick with the tears that were quickly gathering in her eyes. "Shit, I must be tired," she added quickly as a way of explaining her sudden dissolution into a crying mess.

"Well, I'm sure some quality time with the Benton family is just what you need," Matthew said, giving her hand a small squeeze.

.oOo.

Emily went home from school with Matthew and went into the den to call her mother's secretary to find out whether the Ambassador would be coming home for dinner.

"No, dear," Mrs. Thompson told her. "She has a meeting at the Agenzia Nazionale della Sicurezza del Volo this evening and probably won't be able to be home until late."

Emily sighed. Of course there was another meeting with another aviation security agency.

"The Ambassador has an opening in her schedule tomorrow from two until three-thirty. I could put you in for that time," Mrs. Thompson offered.

Once again, Emily fought to keep the tears from her voice. "No, it's ok. I'm still in school until four."

"I'll ring the school in the morning and let them know that you'll be leaving early because you have an appointment," Mrs. Thompson insisted. "Your mother was just saying how long it's been since she has spent time with you. You're like two ships passing in the night."

"Really?" Mrs. Thompson has been her mother's secretary since Egypt, so she was no stranger to the distance in Emily's relationship with her mother. Emily was never certain if her mother really discussed such things with her secretary or if Mrs. Thompson told her little white lies to make her think her mother cared.

"Really, dear," she insisted. "I'll let the Ambassador know of the addition to her schedule."

"Will you also let her know that I'm eating dinner at the Bentons' house tonight?" Emily asked, pretending that her mother would be interested in that sort of information.

"Of course. Have a good time," Mrs. Thompson said cheerfully.

After hanging up the phone, Emily glanced at the living room where Matthew and his younger sister, Julie, were sitting at the table working on homework, and Mrs. Benton was hovering nearby. Since a few tears had made their way down her cheeks during her conversation with Mrs. Thompson, Emily slipped into the hall bathroom to wash her face and pull herself together.

She questioned the success of her efforts when she saw Mrs. Benton's expression change to one of concern when she walked into the living room.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Benton," Emily said, forcing a smile. "Thanks for having me over for dinner."

"Please, dear, how many time do I have to tell you? You can call me Andi," Matthew's mom offered.

Emily nodded even though she would never actually take Mrs. Benton up on that offer. Her parents would be horrified.

Mrs. Benton approached her and put her hand on Emily's arm.

"Is everything ok, Emily?" she said softly.

"Yes, ma'am," Emily said, nodding, glancing over at Matthew. She wondered if he'd mentioned anything to his mom while she was in the other room.

"Well, I'm always here for you if you need someone to talk to," Mrs. Benton assured her.

"I'm fine, really," Emily said, wondering how many times she had told that lie in the last week.

Mrs. Benton nodded. "Julie, come on upstairs with me, we can work on your homework in your room."

"Awww, Mom, can't I stay down here? I won't be annoying. I'm not being annoying, right?" she turned to her older brother who just shook his head.

"I know, sweetie. It's just that Emily and Matthew will probably be talking about their homework and I don't want _them_ annoying _you_," Mrs. Benton said.

With an overly dramatic sigh, the sixth grader stacked up her notebooks and grabbed her pencils. She trudged upstairs, her mom closely behind.

"So you can stay for dinner?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah, my mother has some meeting," Emily explained, shrugging. She saw Matthew had his calculator out and math book out on the table.

"Ugh, do we have to start with geometry?" she groaned.

"It's easy. I'll help you. And then maybe you can explain to me how a bunch of talking farm animals is relevant to my knowledge of government," Matthew said smiling. "Either that or you can tell me what's wrong."

"I'd rather talk about geometric proofs," Emily said, opening her book and looking down, not at the words, of course, but it was better than meeting Matthew's gaze and seeing the concern in his eyes.

She knew she couldn't manage this situation on her own, and she wasn't sure who to talk to. Emily had called Alice the night before, but her father said she and her mother went back to the States for a vacation; Emily didn't want to ruin her trip with her problems. Since talking with Mrs. Thompson, she considered discussing it with her mother tomorrow afternoon. And there was always Matthew. She knew Matthew would move heaven and earth to help her.

Probably.

Maybe.

Emily was avoiding telling Matthew because ever since she saw the two pink lines, the only thing could think about was how _not _to have the baby. She couldn't be pregnant; her parents would disown her. She couldn't have the baby; she would have nothing to offer it. When Emily thought about being pregnant and having the baby, all she could see in front of her was darkness. She knew how religious Matthew and his family were. She worried that if she told Matthew that either he would hate her or try to convince her to have the baby. Both of those outcomes were unbearable to think about.

"Please tell me you're not crying over congruent angles."

Matthew's voice cut through Emily's thoughts. It wasn't until she looked up at him that she realized she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Shit." Emily wiped the back of her hand across her eyes as she stood up from the table.

"Emily?"

She heard the concern in Matthew's voice, but she didn't turn around. It was bad enough that she just started crying out of nowhere, she didn't need to start sobbing outright; that had to wait until she was behind a closed door.

Emily glanced at her watch. She would give herself two minutes of crying and then another minute to wash her face and pull herself together. Three minutes was a reasonable amount of time to spend in the bathroom.

After her allotted time, Emily emerged from the bathroom and found Matthew in the foyer waiting for her. He motioned for her to follow him into the den and he closed the door.

"Before you say anything, don't." Emily wanted to cut him off before he asked her what was wrong.

"But... I…"

Emily held up her hand. "Don't."

"Please," she said softly, losing the edge to her voice. "Just please don't."

Matthew nodded. "You should go wash your face again or else my mom is totally going to know you were crying."

"Maybe I should just go home," Emily said, not feeling up to the challenge of sitting through a family dinner full of questions and conversation.

Matthew shook his head. "You probably shouldn't be alone right now."

"What do you know about what I should and shouldn't be doing?" Emily asked, regretting the annoyance that had crept into her voice.

"I'm not stupid, Emily," Matthew said. Emily heard the annoyance in his voice and felt even worse.

"I didn't say you were," she insisted.

"You haven't _said_ anything," he retorted. "You keep acting like it's all normal for you to burst into tears every five minutes and that I'm a moron for asking you about it."

Emily looked down. She felt like no matter what she did, whether she confided in him or not, she was just going to end up losing Matthew as a friend. Was it better to push him away or to have him run away?

"But before you start crying again or insisting that you're _fine_," Matthew said, taking a step closer to her. "I'm not mad. I just want to help."

Emily believed him. And she knew if she saw Matthew acting like she was, they'd be having the same sort of conversation.

"I'm not ready yet," Emily admitted. It was the best she could do for the moment. "Besides, I should go wash up before dinner."

Emily turned to go to the bathroom, still not able to look up at him.

.oOo.

Mr. Benton drove Emily home after dinner. It hadn't been as bad as Emily feared because Julie dominated most of the conversation with stories about her class field trip to the Coliseum. Emily didn't miss the looks that Matthew kept giving her, and she responded with what she thought was a reassuring smile.

"Is my mother home yet?" Emily asked Paola, their housekeeper.

"Not yet. How was dinner with the Bentons?" Paola asked.

"It was good. His family's really nice. It's weird, they're like a TV show family; they say grace, and even though they eat dinner together _every_ night they still find things to talk about," Emily said shrugging. "But Antonia's tomato sauce doesn't hold a candle to yours."

Paola smiled. "Good answer, my dear."

"I'm gonna just finish my homework and go to sleep," Emily said, hiding her yawn behind her hand.

"When your mother gets home, would you like me to tell her to come by your room?"

Emily shook her head. "Nah, I've got an appointment with her tomorrow afternoon. I'm just really tired."

"Sleep well then, dear," Paola told her.

.oOo.

At 2:04, the headmaster's secretary came to Emily's history class. Emily shoved her books into her bag and stood up. She felt a little dizzy from standing up so quickly, but it passed as she walked out of the classroom.

"Mother?" Emily wasn't actually expecting her mother to pick her up. She figured her mother's driver would come to take her back to the Embassy, and they'd talk in some conference room and drink tea.

"Were you expecting someone else?" The Ambassador asked with a smile. "Come on let's get you to that appointment," she said, giving Emily a small wink as she signed her out of school.

"Have you eaten lunch?" Her mother asked as Emily got into the car.

"Not really," Emily admitted. Ever since she had decided last night that she was going to tell her mother she was pregnant, a pit of anxiety had compounded her usual nausea. She hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night.

"Nor have I," the Ambassador said. "There's a nice little café just outside of town. Are you up for a drive?"

"Sure, that sounds fine."

The rest of the drive was quiet as Emily stared out the window, rehearsing in her head how she was going to tell her mother.

_Mother, I'm pregnant._

Somehow it just didn't feel like it would be that simple.

_Which do you prefer: grandma, grandmother, or maybe nonna since we're in Italy?_

It wasn't direct, but it got the point across.

_You know Counselor Cooley's son, John? Well, he knocked me up._

That was probably not going to go over very well either.

Before Emily decided on the appropriate wording to use, they arrived at the café. They were seated quickly at a table on the terrace.

"You've been pretty quiet. Is everything ok?" her mother asked as she pulled out her reading glasses to examine the menu.

Emily nodded. "Everything's fine. How have you been?"

"Busy. However, I suppose you're well aware of that," her mother answered. "The meeting last night was quite comprehensive with regards to alterations in the security procedures for flights both in and out of Italy."

"That's good," Emily said, trying to pay attention to the conversation, work out how to break the news to her mother, and figure out which menu item seemed least unappetizing. She was failing at all three tasks.

Emily could feel her mother's eyes on her, and when she looked up, she saw her mother peering over her reading glasses. Emily couldn't quite read her expression.

"You look like you've lost weight," her mother told her.

Emily shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't been doing anything different." Well, except for vomiting and skipping meals to avoid vomiting.

"I know you've been having a lot of dinners by yourself," her mother said, the concern in voice was obvious. "You are eating, aren't you?"

Emily nodded. "Paola eats with me sometimes. And I had dinner at the Bentons' last night. Mr. and Mrs. Benton send their best," she added.

"How are Matthew's parents doing?"

"They're doing well. Mrs. Benton is still at the Electric Company, and Mr. Benton was talking about buying another hotel," Emily said. When she saw her mother's eyebrows go up, an amused look on her face, Emily suddenly realized what she had said.

"And I was able to acquire three railroads while Matthew ended up in Jail," she added. "He didn't even pass go and collect two hundred dollars."

"What happened with the fourth railroad, Emily?" Her mother said, unable to hide her smile. "I know that your father and I have taught you to be a better negotiator than that."

"Julie drives a hard bargain. I blocked her hostile takeover of Boardwalk Place, though," Emily explained. "And I leveraged a buy-out of Water Works."

"So, what else have you been up to? I know I've been so busy lately, and I haven't been around."

Emily shrugged. "It's ok."

"I spoke with your father last night."

"How is he doing?" Emily had tried calling her father twice in the last week, but had only spoken to her aunt and grandfather. Her father seemed to be out somewhere whenever she called.

"He's doing well. So is your Aunt Josette. They did some tests, and it appears that the chemotherapy is working," the Ambassador explained.

"That's great. Did he say when he's coming back?"

She was relieved when her mother nodded. "He'll be leaving for California in a few days, and he expects to return to Italy early next week."

Emily swallowed hard, trying to hide her disappointment. Now that she had realized how much she missed her parents, it seemed like that feeling grew with each passing minute. She balled her hands in her lap, annoyed that she already had the urge to cry and they hadn't even ordered their drinks yet.

As though hearing her thoughts, their waiter appeared at the table to take their order.

"La pasta fugeoli, per favore. E una Coca," Emily ordered, hoping that the soup would help settle her already churning stomach. Though, she supposed, running to the bathroom to vomit would certainly be a good lead-in to tell her mother that she was pregnant.

"You do have a knack for languages," her mother commented after the waiter walked away from the table.

"Please, Mother. I ordered soup and a coke. That's hardly a spectacular display of linguistic aptitude," Emily said, rolling her eyes.

"Don't downplay your strengths, Emily," her mother scolded. "Paola tells me that you're quite fluent, and one would be hard-pressed to distinguish your accent from theirs." She waved her hand generally at the other restaurant patrons.

Emily took a deep breath. She was suddenly hit with the feeling that it was now or never. She was going to tell her mother now. Two words. _I'm pregnant._ Three syllables. _I'm pregnant._

"Mother, I'm…" Emily paused, her voice sticking in the back of her throat. "I'm, uh, glad that you had some time this afternoon."

She chickened out.

"I am, too," her mother agreed. "I should have done this weeks ago. It wasn't until I spoke with Mrs. Thompson this morning that I realized just how long it has been since you and I spent any time together. Not to mention that neither your father nor I have been around very much since Christmas."

Emily had guessed right; Mrs. Thompson had been covering for her mother.

"It's ok. I mean, I'm used to it," Emily said, shrugging as nonchalantly as possible.

"Sometimes you make me hate myself," her mother told her.

"What? Why?" Emily asked, almost choking on the Coke that the waiter had just dropped off.

"Because you have grown into such a responsible and poised young woman. I can't help but think that it is in spite of your father and me rather than because of us."

Emily shook her head. After all, responsible and poised fifteen-year-old girls don't get pregnant.

"That's not true," she insisted.

"You have always tried to protect me from the truth," her mother told her.

"I can't help but remember the little girl who came home every day from kindergarten with her dress torn and dirty and her eyes rimmed in red. Every day. And yet when asked about your day, you gave me a big smile and told me all about what you and your friends did during the day.

"And then I think about my nine-year-old daughter who created an entirely different persona just to make friends and make it through third grade," she added.

"You knew about that?" Emily asked. She was certain that her mother had believed her story about her teacher confusing her for girl named Caroline who bullied everyone in Emily's class.

"Emily, dear, I work with politicians day in and day out. I know when someone is feeding me a load of bullshit," her mother informed her.

"And that day in your room, you served me a heaping plate of bullshit."

Emily's eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped. She couldn't believe she just heard her mother say _bullshit_. Her ever-poised and dignified mother just said _bullshit_. In public.

"Oh please, Emily, just because I raised you not to swear doesn't mean I don't know the words," her mother defended.

"Well, you've just destroyed two illusions in one sentence," Emily said, a small smile making its appearance.

"You have grown up to be such a responsible and independent young woman," her mother said, her tone of voice more serious. "You make me so proud."

"But it saddens me to think of what you went through all these years that has made you have to be so mature and self-reliant. I can't help but think that your father and I have been part of the problem. And not part of the solution, like good parents are supposed to be."

Mature. Responsible. Independent. She had never once heard that her mother was proud of her. Emily had always been certain that she had always been a disappointment to her parents. That it was her fault that she never quite fit in at school or made any friends, and that if she were a better person, she should have been able to navigate starting over at a new school much better than she ever did.

Emily absent-mindedly slid her hand over her stomach. Her mother's pride in her was about to take an abrupt nose-dive. Trading sex for the possibility of friendship and then getting pregnant did not fit the definition of mature and responsible. Stupid and reckless seemed to be more apt adjectives. Not to mention pathetic.

"I don't know what to say," Emily admitted. She certainly knew what _not_ to say. She was definitely not going to tell her mother she got pregnant. Ever.

Her mother just looked at her and smiled. "You don't have to say anything, sweetheart. I can see from the circles under your eyes that it has been a rough month for you. I just want to let you know that I fully intend to be around more."

Emily took another sip of her Coke to avoid making any telling facial expressions. She had no idea where her mother's admission and promises were coming from and she couldn't take the risk that her mother had figured things out and was trying to guilt her into admitting she'd gotten pregnant.

Their waiter came and set the food on the table. His appearance and the interruption in their conversation was enough to break the moment between Emily and her mother. As they ate their lunches, their conversation flowed back to more impersonal topics.

After lunch, Emily's mother dropped her off at home before returning to the Embassy. When she walked through the door, Emily was relieved to find a note from Paola saying that she left to go to the market and would be home in a few hours. Emily quickly went up to her room and climbed into bed, not caring about the pile of homework that was due tomorrow. All she wanted to do was cry and sleep.

.oOo.

The next morning, Emily began her day as usual – crouched over the toilet gagging as the tears ran down her face. She heard the bathroom door open and felt a cool washcloth on the back of her neck.

"Mom?" she rasped, her throat raw.

"No, dear, it's Paola."

"I'm sorry," Emily managed to get out between retches.

"There's no need to be sorry," Paola told her.

She helped Emily stand up and handed her a cup of water.

"Just to rinse your mouth out, dear," she said. "Don't drink too much or you'll upset your stomach all over again."

Emily tried to offer a small smile in appreciation, but she couldn't quite get there. Paola slipped her arm around Emily's waist and led her back to bed.

"Your mother has already left for the office, but I'll call her office make sure she knows," Paola said as she went over to Emily's drawers and pulled out a pair of pajamas.

"And let's get you out of your school clothes," she added.

Emily ran her hands over her face and nodded. Apparently she didn't even bother changing last night before she got into bed. She was relieved that she didn't have to go to school. She hadn't gotten any homework finished and she wasn't sure she could face Matthew without completely breaking down.

Paola left the room and Emily took the opportunity to shed her school uniform and put on the pajamas that Paola had laid out for her. She crawled back into bed and pulled her covers over her head. Just as she was closing her eyes, she felt the bed shift as Paola sat down. All Emily wanted to do was disappear under her blanket, but she didn't want to be rude.

"Emily, dear," Paola said softly.

Emily pulled the covers down and she could see some tea and crackers on the table next to her bed.

"Thank you," Emily said even though the thought of eating or drinking was almost enough to send her back to the bathroom.

"Is everything alright, dear?" Emily could see the concern on Paola's face.

Emily nodded. "I'm sure it's just a virus or something. I think something's going around."

"I think it's more than that," Paola said gently. "This isn't the first morning you've gotten sick."

Emily's eyes widened before she could stop them. She was certain that she'd been successful in hiding her morning activities.

"How far along are you?"

Emily started to protest, but the sobs came first. Paola moved over and wrapped her arm around Emily.

"Five or six weeks, I think," she got out between sobs.

"Did you talk with your mother yesterday?" Paola asked, gently.

Emily shook her head. "I couldn't. I can't."

Paola didn't say anything, instead she just held Emily, stroking her hair.

"You won't tell her?" Emily asked, after regaining some of her composure.

"No dear," Paola told her. "It's not my place. But I'll be here to support you when you do."

"I don't…" Emily's sentence trailed off as she took in Paola's words. _When_ you tell her. Not _if _you tell her. She looked at the cross around Paola's neck and realized that with the Vatican only five miles down the road, Emily's plan to end her pregnancy was probably not going to be a popular decision.

She needed to talk with Matthew.

"Thanks for um, listening to me," Emily said, not bothering to keep the tears out of her voice. "I think I just need to go back to sleep for a bit."

"Of course, dear." Paola was already fixing the covers, tucking Emily back into bed. "I'll make some chicken soup that will be ready for lunch. And I'll leave these crackers for you to nibble on."

"Thanks," Emily said softly. She closed her eyes, but with all the thoughts running through her mind, she was certain that sleep would be a long time coming.

* * *

><p>A short history lesson: One of my favorite things about writing this story is looking up real world events and trying to put Emily's life as the daughter of a diplomat in the context of her mother actually working in the countries that either the CM writers alluded to or that I made up. The airport attacks in Rome and Vienna that I allude to really happened. On December 27, 1985, terrorists threw grenades and fired assault rifles into the crowds around the El Al &amp; Trans World gates in the Rome Airport. In the Vienna International Airport, a similar attack was carried out moments later. A total of 19 people were killed and 140 were injured in these attacks.<p> 


	10. 2007: Denver, CO

**A/N: **I know I say this every chapter, but I really do mean it when I say thanks to all my readers, reviewers, favoriters and alerters. I get ridiculously excited when there are notifications in my inbox.

A hearty thank you to _**nikonic, **_who is an awesome beta.

* * *

><p><strong>2007 – Denver, CO<strong>

As Emily stared at the crime scene photos, she felt a strange sense of nostalgia for a family she never had.

"PTA moms, grey flannel dads – these guys are killing the Cleavers," she commented.

"Makes you wonder how the writers really felt about suburbia," Reid mused after commenting on the irony of the name given to an iconic suburban family.

Emily decided it was neither the time nor place to get into an etymology debate with Reid by pointing out that one of the meanings of _cleave_ is to stick close by and remain faithful.

Emily had always longed for the suburbs. She didn't need a psychology degree to realize why her favorite TV shows were _The Partridge Family_, _Family Ties_, _Growing Pains_, and _The Facts of Life_. Well, that last one had less to do with family dynamics and more to do with Jo. Emily stifled a small smile and realized that she had fallen a few beats behind while the team was continuing to spitball ideas about motive.

"Class-based uprising? Helter-Skelter?" As soon as she said those words, she knew they weren't right. Morgan's quick interjection about the lack of graffiti and messages let her know just how not right her thought was. Hotch's furrowed eyebrows directed right at her didn't help matters.

She had been back on the team for almost two months since her resignation and she hadn't really felt on her game since her encounter with Strauss. She knew she should feel relieved that Hotch had sought her out, convinced her to return for the Milwaukee case, and then stood up for her to both Chief Strauss and Director Clements. He didn't _have_ to do that. He had obviously solved the mystery of the missing transfer papers. He knew she had never been hired based on her professional merits; she was hired to be a political pawn, not a profiler.

Hotch knew. Emily wasn't sure how much the rest of the team knew. But Hotch knew everything. Even with that knowledge, he put his career on the line to keep her on the team. She was embarrassed to admit how much that meant to her. She recalled saying something to him on the plane back from Milwaukee: not the details, but that it was something overly effusive. Probably something she would say only under the influence of a closed head injury.

Despite the knowledge that Hotch made the active move of getting her back on the team, she still worried that any misstep could land her back to being unemployed. Or worse, St. Louis.

She walked down the tarmac and remembered why she hated flying in Denver. For all the beauty of the Rocky Mountains, the airport couldn't be located in a more flat, desolate, and ugly area.

Hotch's voice interrupted her internal monologue about brown grass and tumbleweeds.

"You've been a member of this team for almost a year. You don't need to keep acting as though you're on probation," he told her.

_Damn profilers_.

She just nodded.

"I want you to come with me to the crime scene," he said.

"Of course. I'll give JJ my things to take back to the station."

.oOo.

As she walked the scene, Emily felt like she was in her element; her give-and-take with Hotch flowed naturally. There was one UnSub who viciously beat the parents to death while their children watched, only to be killed by a barbiturate overdose by the second UnSub. Emily sighed and shook her head, thinking that at least the UnSubs were merciful enough to kill the entire family.

Back at the station, they were updating the locals and other BAU agents regarding their findings from the crime scene.

"Hotch, there's been another one." JJ came into the room, interrupting the discussion about the profile. Emily was shocked when JJ added, "they're sending an ambulance."

"Ambulance?" Emily immediately rescinded her thoughts of gratitude towards the UnSubs for not leaving sole survivors.

When they found out it was a fifteen-year-old girl, Hotch assigned JJ and Emily to head to the hospital and talk with her. The hospital smell hit Emily as soon as they walked through the door. There were some days that she associated that smell with some of her worst memories: her abortion in Italy, sitting by her grandfather's bedside as he lay dying of cancer, or being evaluated after a number of run-ins with an UnSub. There were other days however, when the smell of a hospital brought her hope: like when her cousin had her baby, when her mother found out that the lump was _not _cancerous, or when she got her appendix out and both her parents flew over from Italy to stay with her.

When Emily walked into the hospital room and saw a fifteen-year-old girl with dark hair, wearing a hospital gown, and sitting on the bed looking lost, she couldn't help but be transported back Italy. But this girl wasn't like Emily, she was there through no fault of her own except for coming from an idyllic nuclear family.

As Carrie told her story of what happened the night before, Emily let JJ take the comforting position in the chair next to the bed. Emily stood at the foot of the bed, which let her maintain the distance she needed to remain objective. While it didn't happen often, there was the rare victim or even rarer suspect with whom Emily felt an inexplicable connection. Although this time it didn't seem all that inexplicable that Emily identify with a scared fifteen-year-old who had just lost everyone she ever cared about.

Emily shook her head trying to clear her mind of those memories. She concentrated on the details of Carrie's story: they called each other _brother_, one is Hispanic, used a dead cat. Because it would be the details that will help catch these UnSubs.

.oOo.

After spending the night thinking about Carrie, Emily's heart broke even more the following morning when JJ informed her that Carrie's family in L.A. declined to take her in. Apparently there were several aunts and uncles involved in a game of _not it_. Once again, Emily saw herself in the young teen; she had left Italy shortly after her sixteenth birthday and moved in with her uncle and his family. Certainly Emily's circumstances were different from Carrie's, but making that move after one of the most devastating times in her life was the hardest moves she ever made.

Before she got too far into her memories, Emily was yanked out of her thoughts by the screams of an obviously terrified girl. Carrie! Even though they doubled her security, what if something happened anyway?

She and JJ ran to her room and found her in the throes of a nightmare. Emily was relieved that JJ took Carrie into her arms. She knew she was getting too close. She needed to step back. She closed her eyes and tried to re-center herself. When she opened them, she was drawn to the floral arrangement in the corner of the room. Purple crocuses.

She could suddenly smell the warm, faintly sweet fragrance that took her straight to the villa in Tuscany. Her mouth went dry, but her flashback was halted when she realized that she'd seen the exact same flower arrangement in the Ortiz's living. That would be a hell of a coincidence. Hopefully it would be the coincidence they would need. Emily stepped out of the room, leaving JJ and Carrie so that she could let the rest of the team know about her finding and start Garcia on the techno-hunt for these UnSubs.

.oOo.

Emily's hunch had been right, and their series of leads that came from following the flower arrangement had led the team to nine possible UnSubs. It was time to bring Carrie down to the station to make the ID. Emily went to pick her up from the foster family that she'd been placed with for the short-term.

"How are the Davises?" Emily asked as Carrie climbed into the SUV. "They seem nice."

Carrie shrugged. "They don't ask too many questions. Mrs. Davis made really good soup last night, and I get my own bedroom with an attached bathroom."

Emily nodded.

"Is it going to be like this now?" Carrie asked. "Like, will I just live with them? Or will I live somewhere else? My best friend, Tina, is asking her mom if I can live with them."

"I don't know," Emily told her. She thought about their case from Milwaukee. She could picture David Smith sitting in the police car, looking more lost and terrified than when he had been pointing her gun at her. Emily hadn't thought about him since leaving the crime scene, but now she couldn't help but wonder what happened to him. Did his mom come back? Did he go to live with relatives? Was he with a nice family eating good soup with an en suite bathroom?

These were usually the issues handled after the cases, after the UnSubs had been caught and they were on their way back to D.C. Emily had long stopped trying to imagine the aftermath for the victims' families. There was no better way to drive herself crazy than if she tried to think in detail about the lives that were destroyed in the wake of each UnSub. She knew that the swathe of destruction was much wider than even what the team saw and that it continued to be cut even after the UnSub was caught, killed, or imprisoned.

She knew that JJ kept in touch with some of the families, getting updates on how they were coping; what was happening with court trials; and what had happened to the orphans, widows, widowers, and parents left behind. Emily could always tell when JJ had gotten one of those phone calls because her voice often went from exuberant to flat over the course of the initial silence. The corners of her mouth would start drooping, and if it was really bad, she would start pinching the bridge of her nose before the call had even ended. As soon as she was able, JJ would make her way to her office and not come out for a while. Seeing JJ's reactions made Emily believe that not all that ends well stays well.

"You must see a lot of other kids like me, right? What happens to them?" Carrie asked.

"I don't know," Emily answered honestly. "I think most of the time kids end up living with a relative or foster family."

"Do you ever see happy endings?" Carrie asked.

Emily could tell from Carrie's tone of voice what she wanted her answer to be. But at the moment, all Emily saw were dead college students, the mutilated bodies Frank left behind, and a dead cop who was killed by an overly vigilant citizen. The image of Bobbi Baird popped into her mind. Bobbi survived. But the sound of Bobbi's voice, taunting the UnSub before he died, reminded her that even the survivors were damaged.

"Sometimes," Emily told her. "I know it seems hard to believe, but most people around here consider your survival to be a happy ending."

Carrie was quiet for a moment. "They're wrong."

Emily nodded slightly. It wasn't Emily's place to disagree with Carrie on that point.

"I like to think about the happy endings for the people that we haven't met," Emily said after a few minutes of silence. "The ones whose lives won't be touched by the UnSubs because they were caught before they could move on to their next victims."

"So by helping, I could be saving someone else's family?" Carrie asked.

"You're helping more people than you can even think of," Emily affirmed.

"That just means they have hurt more people than I can imagine, too." Emily glanced over at Carrie, who was staring out the window.

"That doesn't diminish the fact that you are strong, and your strength and courage are going to help us keep people safe." Emily reached across the seat and squeezed Carrie's hand.

Carrie nodded, but didn't turn around. They rode the rest of the way to the police station in silence.

.oOo.

JJ met them in the lobby and took Carrie into one of the small offices to wait until they were ready for her to make the ID.

Emily was working with Hotch to set up the array of mug shots. Given the information Garcia had found, Emily was certain that one of these men was the UnSub. But what was it about the other eight men, who had similar experiences and similar access that kept them from being the UnSub. Was it simply a matter of time? Or have they changed?

Emily saw the elevator open and JJ and Carrie got out.

"Is she up for it?" Hotch asked.

"I don't know," Emily said. That wasn't entirely true, Emily had a hunch Carrie was more than up for it.

"This one," Carrie whispered softly, pointing to one of the pictures. Ervin Robles, who was employed by the Denver City Pound. Cats and pentobarbital. Hotch caught Emily's eye before turning to leave. Before she took off to follow them, she put her arm around Carrie.

"Your parents would be really proud of you," she told her.

"It's too late to be a good daughter now." Carrie's voice was quiet and distant.

"Oh, that's not true." Emily's only reasoning was that in her parents' minds it was never too late to be a disappointment, so surely the reverse had to be true.

"I was horrible to them," Carrie insisted. "And now they're gone. Why did they do it? I mean there has to be a reason, right?"

"Oh, you'll drive yourself crazy trying to figure out the reason." Emily knew that to be a fact.

"I go crazy every time I close my eyes."

"It may have something to do with what happened to them when they were younger." It wasn't much of an answer, but maybe it would help.

"Like what, they were abused or something?"

Probably something worse. "There's a good chance."

"Are there any happy families?" The question caught Emily off guard. She wanted to be able to tell Carrie, yes, there are happy families. There are houses with a mom and a dad who love each other and love and support their children, who were always well behaved and thoughtful. Emily just didn't know any of these families.

Emily saw JJ looking at her.

"There are happy families everywhere," JJ said, approaching them. "And while it seems impossible now, there's going to be a time when you're happy again."

"But I'm not going to have a family again," Carrie responded in the same vacant voice as before.

JJ put her arm around Carrie, and Emily suddenly felt in the way, unable to offer any more optimism than the meager dose she had already given.

"I'm going to meet up with Hotch to go to the pound with them. I'll let you know of any leads," Emily promised.

.oOo.

Emily stared up at the ceiling of her hotel room. They were getting closer. They had Ervin. They had a plan to get Gary. But after being awake nearly two days straight, Hotch gave everyone strict orders to go back to the hotel and sleep. _We have Ervin and we're on our way to finding Gary. We'll let the locals work tonight because if we're going to take him down tomorrow, I need you all to be awake, alert, and on top of your game._

She squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to at least accomplish the first two goals. As for being on top of her game, Emily couldn't help but feel rattled by Carrie; she just couldn't bear the thought that this bright young woman who had so much to look forward to, has suddenly hit a brick wall. She couldn't help but think there was something she could do. Just as the inkling of an idea came to the edge of her thoughts, she heard a knock on the door.

"Em, it's me, JJ," the voice on the other side of the door called.

Emily opened the door to find JJ carrying an ice bucket with four beers. She smiled and let JJ into the room.

"Everyone talks about the great microbrews here, I figured we may as well partake," JJ explained. "Reid swears this is the most balanced beer with regards to hops and malts."

JJ handed Emily a bottle of Fat Tire. "Apparently that's a good thing," JJ told her.

They sat on Emily's bed drinking their beers.

"So what's up? Are you doing okay?" Emily asked.

"That's funny. Because I come bearing brews as a way of asking you the same thing," JJ said. "You seem… I don't know… affected."

"Don't all these cases affect us in one way or another?" Emily asked. Her attempt at avoiding answering the question was obvious.

"Yup," JJ agreed. "It's just that this one seems to be getting to you in a way that some of our other cases don't."

"Did you come from one of those happy families?" Emily asked, ignoring both the question and the look that JJ gave her.

"For the most part," JJ said. "But there's only so much happiness you can have growing up in a town two thousand people."

JJ took a long swig from her beer, and Emily waited for her to continue.

"Sometimes it feels like the first half of my childhood was happy because I didn't really know any different," JJ admitted. "And the second half was happy because I spent my time trying to recapture the happiness I used to feel, as false as it might have been."

"What happened to separate those halves?" Emily asked.

It was JJ's turn to avoid answering a direct question. She just shrugged and took another sip of her beer.

"I never got the impression that you would have listed your family under the happy list," JJ said.

Emily sighed and felt a lump rise in her throat. "That would be an understatement."

She suddenly felt very exposed with that admission. Emily hated talking about her childhood. Because talking about it meant thinking about it. And thinking about it often left Emily feeling like the kindergartener who got punched every day or the twelve year old who tried so hard to fit in, but never did. But she was already thinking about her childhood, so what harm would it do to talk about it?

"How come?" JJ asked.

"I'm not sure that anyone who moved seven times to five countries before graduating high school would classify their childhood as happy," Emily told her. "Though, shit, if they did, I want to meet them and find out what made their lives different than mine."

"But didn't travelling from country to country make you and your parents closer?" JJ asked. "Like you were all each other had?"

"Not really," Emily said truthfully. She glanced at the beer bottle and saw it was almost empty. Even taking into account the altitude, Emily knew it wasn't the alcohol doing the talking.

"My mother had countries to change; my father had medical equipment to sell. I had the nannies and housekeepers that my parents paid to care about me, so they wouldn't have to."

"Mostly I think I got in the way," Emily admitted.

"I can't imagine that's true," JJ said. "Why do you say that?"

_Because the one time I really needed my parents support, they sent me away to live with family in the U.S. Because every time that it mattered and even when it didn't, my parents chose politics and business over me. But mostly I know because my mother told me so._

"I don't usually talk about this." Emily took another drink of her beer to avoid saying anything else.

"I know," JJ said. "Somehow I've always gotten the impression that there isn't a single person in the world that knows all your secrets."

"Well, are there people who know all of yours?" Emily asked, feeling her face get flushed. "I mean, you did a bit of question-dodging yourself."

"That's true. And yes there are," JJ told her.

Emily glanced at JJ and wondered who those people were. She wondered if she would ever be one of them. She wondered if one day JJ would know all her secrets.

"But I figured if I plied you with enough alcohol, you'd open up about stuff," JJ said.

Her tone of voice caught Emily off guard. Emily wasn't used to having someone who was that concerned about her. JJ's expression was warm and open, and for a brief moment, Emily pictured how easy it would be to open up to JJ. And a brief moment after that, she realized how bad an idea that would be.

"That's awfully cocky of you," Emily joked, trying to halt her introspection.

JJ took her hand, and suddenly Emily had that same warm feeling she had in the car the night she saw _Fame_. The night that Alice held her hand. The night she always thought about in reference to the first inkling she had about her sexuality.

The same warm, fuzzy feeling that often led to other feelings, which sometimes led to the sharing of those feelings, which eventually led to the sharing of other things. Sadly, it was that sharing that usually just led to the demise of the relationship.

Emily pulled her hand back and started peeling away the label from the beer bottle. That warm, fuzzy feeling _cannot_ come from being with JJ.

"Em?" JJ was looking at her, a confused expression on her face. "Is everything okay? I didn't mean to push you into talking about something uncomfortable."

"You didn't," Emily assured her.

"Well, actually you did, but it's okay," Emily said, changing her mind. "But I'm tired and I just don't know if now's the time to delve into my childhood."

"Or yours," she added remembering JJ's earlier abrupt change in subject.

"That's probably true," JJ agreed. "Plus, we're out of beer."

Emily smiled. "Maybe we can go out for a few once we're back in D.C." She immediately regretted the suggestion. What if JJ thought she was asking her on a date? _Don't be ridiculous, _she thought to herself. If a friend brings another friend beer in her hotel room, said friend can reciprocate by offering to get more beer at another time without the first friend thinking something was up. Damn those warm, fuzzy feelings for messing things up.

"That sounds great. But you still haven't told me what's bothering you about this case," JJ pointed out.

"Nothing in particular, I'm just tired. It's been a long few days." Emily could see the questioning expression on JJ's face, and she knew she hadn't convinced her. "I worry about Carrie."

"Carrie's going to be okay," JJ said. "I'm still in touch with the family in L.A. and I'm sure that something will work out for her."

Emily nodded.

"You sure you're okay?" JJ asked, the concern evident on her face.

Emily nodded again. "I just want to close this case."

"We all do," JJ agreed. "Hopefully tomorrow. Well, later today," she added after looking at the clock.

"Sleep well, Em," JJ said, patting her on the arm.

"You too." Emily opened the door to let JJ out of the room. "Thanks for the beer. And for letting me know there are happy families out there."

As soon as the door was closed, Emily balled her hands into fists, and she squeezed her eyes tight as though that would banish the thoughts about JJ that managed to work their way into her mind.

_It must have been the beer. Or the altitude._

Surely Reid had some statistics about decreased oxygen pressures causing crossed signals in the brain that led one to confuse feelings of friendship with something more.

.oOo.

As Emily stood there with her gun trained on a terrified thirteen-year-old boy, she couldn't help but think of how many unhappy endings this case had. There were so many moments over the last few days that ate at her. Emily was past the point of even trying to analyze why she connected so strongly to Carrie, but she did.

She stood there with her gun trained on a boy who was supposed to be protected by the very people who hurt him. Who hurt generations of foster children that grew up in that house. Would Carrie end up like them?

She felt like she could breathe again when she saw Morgan take Tyler into his arms. The pit in her stomach started to loosen as she holstered her gun.

And that's when it occurred to her. _She _could take Carrie. She had often thought of being a mom, but knew that it would never be in the cards for her. _Should_ never be in the cards. Her reasons why she would be an inadequate mother were similar to the list that she had come up with when she was fifteen. What frightened her most was the idea that she would raise someone who would turn out like her. After all, how could she build a foundation of love, trust, and confidence for a child when she had no frame of reference? She felt like all she had was a long list of what _not _to do.

But Carrie already had fifteen years of a good foundation, all Emily would need to do would be to top it off for the next few years until she went away to college. She had room in her condo, and she had enough money to support Carrie.

When they got back to the station, Emily pulled JJ aside.

"Any word from Carrie's family?" she asked.

JJ shook her head. "I'm waiting to hear back from one of her aunts who has apparently been in Mexico and pretty much unreachable."

"What's going to happen to her?" Emily asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. _Never let someone know how much something means to you._

"She'll probably stay with the Davises until something more permanent works out," JJ answered. "You know how the system works, Em, why all these questions?"

Emily shook her head and shrugged. "No reason. I was just thinking about if there was something I could do."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, I hadn't really gotten that far," Emily answered. "It just seems like such a horrible system."

"It is," JJ agreed. "What's going on, Em?

"Nothing, I'm overthinking things. I should get over to the work area and help Hotch put things away so that we can just get out of here," Emily said, looking for an out of this conversation before she said too much.

"You're not thinking about…" JJ's sentence trailed off. She shook her head. "Never mind. Go help Hotch, and I'll go get everything from the hotel."

Emily nodded and walked down the hall to where Hotch was piling the paperwork. She was relieved to see that he was alone in the room. They took to the task of organizing things in silence. She actually jumped when Hotch's phone rang.

"I see," he said after a long pause. "That's too bad. It seemed like it would work out. I'll let Nellis know."

Emily focused on taking the pictures down from the board. Was that JJ calling about Carrie? Did the family in L.A. fall through? She mulled it over for a few more minutes.

"I could take her," Emily mentioned, trying to sound casual as she mentioned her superficial reasoning of why she should Carrie. Money, space…

She looked up and saw Hotch's furrowed eyebrows and already knew his response.

"This is the job and I need to know that you can be objective," he said.

She was sick of being objective, detached. For the first time in a long time she felt like she connected with someone. Both JJ and Carrie. JJ was a connection that she was going to have to break, but her connection with Carrie was one that she could strengthen. She had something to offer her.

"I need to know that I can be human," she said quietly.

"JJ heard from the family and they're on their way from L.A," Hotch told her.

Why couldn't he have mentioned that in the first place?

"Oh…" This was not the time to sound disappointed. _Never let someone know how much something means to you._ "That's great." Her enthusiasm sounded forced even to her own ears.

"She's going to have to move to a new foster home until the aunt in L.A. is ready to take her, but it sounds like she'll able to head out there in the next few weeks," Hotch told her.

That must have been the part that wasn't going to work out. Emily forced herself to smile.

"Really, that's great. I'm glad that it worked out for her to be with family. That's definitely for the best," Emily said, hoping that she sounded convincing. Because she was happy that Carrie would be with family. And she knew that it would be better for Carrie to be with family than to be with her.

Hotch was right. She needed to stay objective. These last few days would have been a lot easier if she had just stayed objective. She couldn't wait to get back to D.C. and take a hot enough bath to make her forget that she had even considered this idea. Because when it came down to it, she really didn't have anything to offer someone except money and accommodations.

.oOo.

Emily sat staring out the window of the plane. She silently agreed with Morgan when he expressed his hopes for a fully restocked bar, despite the fact that at this point alcohol would just make her maudlin. She just needed to get home, take a hot bath, and forget about the last few days.

JJ sat down in the seat across from her and Emily could feel JJ looking at her. She just kept looking out the window, not really wanting to talk. At least JJ didn't know about her thoughts about taking Carrie in.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Emily said hoping that if she looked JJ in the eye, her claim would sound convincing.

"They're good people, Carrie's family," JJ said, clearly trying to reassure her.

_Shit_. So not only was she not convincing, but Hotch told JJ. Why would Hotch talk to JJ about this? Was this their version of an intervention?

"Good, I'm glad." Surely that was convincing.

After a few moments of silence, JJ broke through Emily's thoughts again. "I think it's a good idea though."

"What's that?" Emily was genuinely confused.

"You. Kids," JJ answered. "I can see it."

"Yeah?" Emily asked. Did JJ really mean that?

JJ nodded as she nibbled on her thumb. That warm, fuzzy feeling returned, and Emily looked out the window to avoid looking at JJ.

Emily contemplated JJ's words. Was she saying that because she really believed it? Was she just trying to make Emily feel better? There was something almost flirtatious about the way JJ said it. Or was that just Emily's subconscious hope?

"Thanks," Emily said softly, looking back over to JJ. Because even though she didn't want them to, JJ's words still meant something to her.

Emily wanted to ask JJ why. Why did she think it was a good idea that Emily have kids? What was her assertion based on? And if it was simply based on the persona Emily let JJ see. Because if JJ knew the real Emily, there would surely be no way she would believe that.

_You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time. Consider me not fooled. _Matthew's words played in her mind. That was Emily's fear: being figured out, someone seeing through her façade, someone getting to know the real Emily. Because Emily hurt everyone she opened up to. Matthew. Sophie. Declan.

She couldn't do that to JJ. Fuzzy, warm feelings or not, she couldn't do that to JJ. She would protect JJ from the pain Emily brought to every relationship she had.

Emily refused to acknowledge that the person she was really trying to protect herself.


	11. 1986: Rome, Italy part 2

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you who have clicked onto this page. Extra thanks to those of you read this chapter and decide to favorite or alert this story. And a super-sized thank you to all of you who leave a review. And as always, a huge helping of gratitude to _**nikonic **_for the beta.

* * *

><p><strong>1986 - Rome, Italy<strong>

"May I speak with Matthew, please?" Emily had been watching the clock and it was finally 4:30, which was the time Matthew got home from school.

"Hey, Goods," Matthew said cheerfully. "Missed you today. And man, Suzanne was _pissed_. We had a pop quiz in Chemistry."

"Can you come over tonight?" Emily's voice wavered despite her best efforts.

"I'll ask my mom," he said. "Is everything ok?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hold on." There was silence on the other end for a few moments.

"My mom just has to run a quick errand and she wants me to watch Julie. I'll probably be there in an hour. Is that ok?"

She'd been waiting weeks to tell someone; surely another hour wouldn't make much difference.

"Of course," she assured him, her voice more steady. "I already told Paola to make some extra dinner for you."

.oOo.

"All right, Goods, what's going on?"

They were sitting in Emily's bedroom, and Emily had barely been paying attention to Matthew telling her about school because she'd been running the words over and over in her head.

_I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant._

"I'm…" Emily paused and took a deep breath. "Pregnant."

Matthew's surprised expression was cartoon-character-like with his wide eyes and dropped jaw. He must have realized how he looked because he quickly rearranged his facial features into a more neutral expression.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Emily said, trying to keep herself from panicking. Of course he's surprised. It's not a bad thing that he's surprised.

"Were you raped?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

Emily was stunned by his question. She shook her head vehemently.

"No, not at all," she said. "It was entirely my own stupidity."

"Well, obviously there was someone else's stupidity involved. Do you want to talk about it?" Matthew asked.

"It was with John. I thought he liked me," Emily said in a flat voice.

Emily had arrived in Italy with the expectation that it was going to be like every other starting-over that she had done. She'd arrive at school, everyone would already have formed their cliques, and there would be no room for Emily to fit into any of them. Much to her surprise, Italy was different; for the first time she had moved to a country _before _the school year started, and one of the other American diplomats had a son her age.

Mrs. Thompson was the one responsible for getting Emily and John to meet. She managed to get them both at the Embassy at the same time under the guise of trying to get things organized for the upcoming school year. _Why don't you show Emily around a bit,_ Mrs. Thompson had suggested. At that moment Emily wanted the carpet to swallow her whole. It was like she was some pathetic loser who needed her mother's secretary to arrange for her to have friends.

Oh wait. She _was_ that pathetic loser. And now John knew that, too.

But his smile seemed genuine enough when he agreed. Emily smiled back, and her embarrassment dropped down a few notches.

John introduced her to Matthew, and for the few weeks before school started, the three of them hung out almost every day. Before the first day of school, Emily would never have guessed that she had managed to befriend two of the most popular boys in the sophomore class. It was clear that the girls in Matthew and John's group of friends viewed her as a threat.

Emily looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head, trying to understand why anyone would view a gangly fourteen-year-old whose nose was too big and whose hair, refusing to choose between curly or straight, merely stuck out in every direction. A group of Bulgarian kindergarteners can be mean, but they don't come close to level of torment high school girls can achieve. Fortunately, Emily had spent almost a decade protecting herself against others, and when she refused to give the girls the satisfaction of seeing her get upset, they moved on to ignoring her.

It was a few weeks before her birthday when John suggested that they go see _Teen Wolf _in the theater. _But Matthew's going to the States for a week_, she responded. _I know_. The look on John's face left no question as to what his intentions were. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. _It'll be like a date._

When Matthew returned from his trip to Boston, he seemed unperturbed about the fact that Emily and John were now dating. He joked about going from an equilateral triangle to an isosceles one. Matthew had this thing for geometry and was constantly comparing the world to shapes and angles.

Over the next two months, John and Emily's dates had changed from going to the movies to making out in her bedroom. With her parents hardly ever around, Emily figure she could get away with just about anything. She had never had any reason to test that theory before, but laying on her bed with John's hand up her shirt seemed to prove it right.

Following John's lead, their make-out sessions quickly progressed from hands up shirts to hands down pants. That was when he started pressuring Emily to have sex. While he never explicitly said it, Emily was certain that if she refused, it would mean the end of their relationship. And if she weren't dating John, she'd have no one. She figured Matthew would choose John; after all, they'd been friends for years before Emily showed up. Once Matthew chose John, all of the other guys in their circle of friends would follow. And since most of the girls at school continued to ignore her, she'd be left with no one. Again.

When it came down it, Emily decided she would rather just have sex with John than lose her friends. So the night before her family left to spend the holiday in Belgium, she gave John his Christmas gift a few days early. It was awkward and painful, but John seemed satisfied.

Emily should have known something was wrong when John never returned her calls. When she returned to school and John refused to look her in the eye or talk to her, her suspicions were confirmed. He didn't even have the decency to break up with her; he just acted as though she was never even his girlfriend. Most of the time he acted as though she didn't even exist.

Emily would have probably just retreated entirely into herself if it weren't for Matthew. He continued to hang out with her and never asked about what happened between her and John. He was just there. As though he would always be there. She should have had more trust in him when she decided that having sex with John was the only way to preserve her relationship with John and therefore her friendship with Matthew.

Matthew was sweet, kind, and a more loyal friend than Emily had ever had. She could count on two fingers the friends she trusted, Matthew and Alice. She should have had faith in Matthew's friendship.

She hoped she hadn't misplaced her trust now.

Matthew's voice cut through Emily's thoughts.

"Well, what are we going to do?" Matthew asked after a few moments of silence had passed.

With that simple question, Emily knew that things were going to be ok. She wasn't alone in this anymore; Matthew was there with her.

"I don't think I can keep it," Emily said softly. "But I don't know what to do."

Matthew nodded. "You should talk with Father Gamino; he's really good at listening and helping you find the answers you need."

"I think I already know his answer," Emily told him, her eyebrows furrowed. "I mean the Church seems pretty unambiguous on the issue."

Matthew shrugged. "Times are changing. After all, abortion was just legalized here three years ago. Things are different now. And besides, you're going to need support no matter what you do."

He had a point. Emily nodded.

"So you're sure that's what you want to do?" Matthew asked.

"Yes. No. Yes," Emily stammered. "I can't have a baby. What would I do with a baby? I can't be a mom. My parents will kill me. Can you imagine the press? _Wayward Ambassador's daughter gets knocked up._"

"You could always put the baby up for adoption," he suggested.

Emily paused. She had considered this option many times. She knew for certain that she did _not_ want to raise the baby. But as Emily looked ahead at the next eight months she couldn't help but think about how horrible it would be to actually _be_ pregnant. Right now only two people knew. If she actually carried the baby to term _everyone_ would know and that thought was unbearable.

"That still wouldn't eliminate the headlines and my parents would still find out. _Everyone_ will find out."

"You could hide it," Matthew suggested.

"So, I just go around for the next eight months wearing baggy clothes and telling people I'm getting fat on pasta and then I go away for a week and shazam! I'm skinny again," Emily said, smiling a little at the mental image of that scenario.

"I hear it takes a while to lose pregnancy weight. I overheard my cousin telling my mom that after six months she'd only lost half the weight," Matthew told her. "So it wouldn't be all, shazam! Maybe more like shaaaaaaaazaaaaaaaammmmmmmm."

Emily laughed at Matthew's long, drawn out _shazam_. But then she looked down at her stomach and stopped laughing. Tears filled her eyes as the reality of the situation came crashing down on her.

"I can't. I just…" she paused and took a deep breath. "…can't do it. I can't be pregnant."

Matthew opened his mouth as though he were going to say something when Paola knocked on Emily's bedroom door.

"La cena è pronta," she announced.

Emily still had almost no appetite, but she appreciated the interruption. When they sat down at the dining room table, Paola raised her eyebrows at Emily, who nodded slightly. Now Paola knew that Matthew knew. Emily could only hope there would be a different topic of conversation during dinner.

"So, Paola, how are your nieces and nephews doing?" Matthew asked. "Lorena must be what, six, by now? And is Frederico still playing football?"

Emily was content to push her dinner around her plate while Matthew and Paola talked about various things. After dinner was over, Paola noticed that Emily's plate had the same amount of food as it had at the beginning of the meal.

"Emily, dovreste mangiare più. Ora state mangiando per due," Paola scolded. Emily's cheeks burned. Even though everyone in the room knew that Emily was eating for two, she couldn't stand the idea that the topic had suddenly become one that would be discussed in the open.

"We're going to talk with Father Gamino tomorrow," Matthew announced to Paola. Emily knew that he was trying to be helpful, but again, just hearing it discussed out loud made her want to cry.

"That's great," Paola said, putting her hand on Emily's shoulder. "I'm sure Father will be able to help. He must know of some young couples looking to adopt."

Emily felt Matthew looking at her, but refused to meet his gaze. Emily had expected Paola's response. She knew that Paola would never agree with her decision. She just hoped that she would understand it.

There was an awkward silence before Matthew cleared his throat and announced that he would call his dad to have him pick him up. After making the call, he followed Emily up to her room to get his things.

"Will you be at school tomorrow?" he asked.

Emily shook her head. "I don't think so."

If Emily never went back to school, it would be too soon.

"Then I'll just come over after school and we can walk over to the church," Matthew told her.

Emily just shrugged. She was torn between wanting to get this whole process over and not wanting to deal with it at all. However, since the latter had made it quite clear that doing nothing was not a viable option, Emily figured the sooner the better.

"Don't worry, Goods, I'm sure Father Gamino will have all the answers."

Emily nodded though she did not share Matthew's opinion.

.oOo.

Matthew had agreed to wait at a nearby park while Emily was in with Father Gamino. She emerged from the church with her eyes rimmed in red and she was sniffling.

"What happened?" he asked, jumping off the swing and rushing over to her.

"Nothing much," she told him. "We just talked about my options."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"I can't believe you're trying to pull another version of the _everything's fine_ game with me," Matthew said, the frustration evident in his voice.

"Can we not do this here?" Emily pleaded, her voice wavering as though she were on the verge of tears.

"No. Tell me what he said," Matthew demanded.

"What do you _think_ he said?" Emily hissed. "Did you really think he would lay out multiple options? Did you really think he was going to support me if I wanted to end it?"

"Well, what did he say were your options?"

"I don't have any that don't involve hell," Emily said in a low angry voice. "I can be trapped in my own personal hell for the next eight months or I can end up in the real one."

The bile rose in her throat as she thought about what the future held for her, and she ran over to one of the garbage cans and emptied what little was in her stomach. Matthew came over and rubbed her back. When she finished, she stood up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Let's just go," she said, humiliated that she had just thrown up in the park. In front of Matthew. Humiliated that she got into this situation in the first place. Humiliated that she must be so ugly or bad at sex that John won't even look at her anymore. Humiliated that Father Gamino knew she was just a stupid slut.

She hated Matthew for suggesting they come. But mostly she hated herself. She wasn't a slut. She was insecure and ugly and had no friends because she didn't deserve them. Even her own parents couldn't stand being with her.

"No." Matthew's eyes were burning with anger. He turned around and started walking toward the church.

"Matthew!" Emily called. "Don't!"

Her words hung uselessly in the air as Matthew continued his determined walk.

Emily ran after him and grabbed his arm. "What are you going to do?"

"Talk with Father Gamino," he answered. "You can come or not, but I'm going."

Emily briefly thought that maybe Matthew could change the Father's mind. After all, Matthew was far more diligent than she was and knew the bible inside and out. If Matthew was convinced that there was some sort of spiritual loophole, who was she to argue?

As they entered the church, Matthew held up his hand to stop Emily from following him into Father Gamino's office. Emily stood in the hallway as Matthew and Father Gamino talked behind the closed door. Emily couldn't tell if ten minutes or two hours had passed when Father Gamino's door opened.

"Emily," Father Gamino said, motioning her to come into his office.

"I don't know what it is that you two are expecting. But there are some crimes for which there is no absolution," he told her in a stern voice.

"Se avete un aborto, non sarete permesso nella mia chiesa," Father Gamino said, his tone of voice indicating that the conversation was over.

Emily nodded and looked down at the floor. While she wasn't completely sold on all of the tenets of Catholicism, she had always found comfort in the church; the rituals were the same no matter where she was. It was the one constant in her life. And Father Gamino was threatening to disallow her in his church.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly? How was this situation ever going to get better? There had been a brief moment, right after she told Matthew, that she actually felt hopeful. That moment was over and hope felt like something she would never feel again. Each choice continued to have more negatives stacked against it, and she had no idea what she was going to do.

Emily felt Matthew's hand grab hers as he walked out of the office.

"Vederemo a tale proposito," he said over his shoulder, challenging Father Gamino's assertion that Emily would no longer be welcome at his church if she went through with the abortion.

.oOo.

"He's right, you know," Emily said quietly once they got back to her house. "There are some things that cannot be changed. There are some sins that can never be forgiven."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as the gravity of her own words sank in. "This is one of those times. I was stupid. I made a mistake, and I have to live with those consequences."

"I can do that," she whispered, more to herself than to Matthew.

"But you don't…" Matthew said.

"Stop. Just stop," Emily pleaded hearing the anger in his voice. "We both knew what Father Gamino was going to say. And honestly, I think you were hoping that would be what he would tell me."

"Because you know it's true. You were just trying to protect me from making this mistake even worse."

Emily saw Matthew's sheepish expression and knew she had figured him out.

"You're right," he conceded. "I was hoping that he would be able to convince you to not get an abortion."

He paused, but Emily could tell that he had more to say. "But I was wrong. I see that now. Nothing can be that black or white. And God, who is all-loving, all-seeing, and all-knowing, has to be more forgiving than this."

"What did you and Father Gamino talk about?" Emily asked, wondering what had prompted this shift in Matthew's worldview. Something went on in that office that had Matthew fired up.

"Never mind that." His voice was curt and laced with malice, which startled Emily.

When they had left Emily's house that afternoon, Matthew had been a sweet boy, who believed that the church had all the answers to any problem. Now he was full of rage, and even if it wasn't directed at Emily, there was no denying that she was the root cause.

"You should probably go home. It'll look suspicious if you eat here two nights in a row." It wouldn't really, but Emily needed to be alone. Paola had the night off and Emily would be shocked if her mother got home before she went to bed.

"Are you going to be ok?" Matthew asked.

Emily nodded. "Paola left some soup in the fridge, and I know there's bread."

"That's not what I meant," he said.

"I know," Emily said softly. "But can we just pretend that it was?"

Matthew sighed. "It's still light out, I'm going to just walk home."

Emily nodded. "That seems like a good idea."

She walked Matthew downstairs and as he was leaving they just sort of looked at each other, and Matthew shrugged his shoulders and took off. When had things gotten so awkward between them? Emily sighed. She tainted everything, everyone she touched.

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><p><em>La cena è pronta. <em>Dinner is ready

_Emily, dovreste mangiare più. Ora state mangiando per due._ Emily, you should eat more. Now you're eating for two.

_Se avete un aborto, non sarete permesso nella mia chiesa._ If you have an abortion, you will not be allowed in my church.

_Vederemo a tale proposito._ We'll see about that.

Again, I apologize for any errors in translation and if you spot one, please let me know and I'll change it.

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><p>This story was nominated for <strong>Best Angst<strong> for the Profiler's Choice Awards. It blows my mind to get to say something like that about one of my stories, especially when I see the awesome stories that are in that category and to be put in that group is really an honor. Thank you to all who nominated this story. For more information on the voting go to .net/topic/74868/51253709/1/.


	12. 2007 Washington, DC

**A/N 1:** This story was nominated for **Best Angst** for the Profiler's Choice Awards. It blows my mind to get to say something like that about one of my stories, especially when I see the awesome stories that are in that category and to be in that group is really an honor. Thank you to all who nominated this story. **For more information on the voting go to .net/topic/74868/51253709/1/.** I have a few other stories nominated in other categories, so you should check them out. Ballots are due on November 30, so make sure you vote (even if it's not for me).

**A/N 2:** Thanks to _**nikonic**_who continues to be an awesome beta. And thanks to you - my readers, reviewers, favoriters, and alerters!

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><p><strong>2007 – Washington, D.C.<strong>

Emily had just finished setting the table when she heard a knock at the door. It was almost eight-thirty at night, who would be visiting her at this hour?

She looked through the peephole and saw JJ standing outside her door. She didn't even know that JJ knew where she lived.

Garcia. Not that Emily had told her either, but it was clear that nothing was safe from Garcia's reach.

_Did another case come up?_ Emily wondered. They just closed the Katie Jacobs case a few hours ago; there was no way they would be getting called so soon. Besides, if it were a case, JJ probably would have just called. Unless it was something serious. Or maybe she was running errands in D.C. and her car broke down.

Before Emily went too far in her analysis, she realized that she was leaving JJ standing out in the hallway.

She opened the door, and as soon as she did, she saw a six-pack of beer in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Emily was relieved that JJ was obviously not there because of a case. Or a broken down car for that matter. She stepped aside to let JJ in.

"Is everything ok?" Emily asked, not understanding why for the second time in two weeks JJ had appeared at her door, beer in hand.

"It's as ok as it will ever be after a day of chasing a kidnapper who turned out to be the aunt of the victim, whose uncle, said aunt's husband, has been sexually molesting her for years, unbeknownst to said uncle's brother and wife who live just three blocks away," JJ answered, matter-of-factly.

Emily nodded and sighed. It _had_ been a hell of day.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Welcome to my home," Emily said suddenly realizing that wasn't a very gracious hostess moment. Her mother would be mortified.

"Thanks," JJ said, looking around. "You know, I've never really thought about what your condo would look like, but now that I'm seeing it, it's _exactly_ what I would've imagined."

Emily had lived in many houses in her life, but her condo was one of the few that actually felt like home. It was her refuge and not just because of the oversized clawfoot tub in the master bathroom. She smiled shyly, realizing that other than Hotch, JJ was the only member of the team to come over to her place.

"And not only does it look amazing, it smells incredible," JJ remarked. "Are you cooking something?"

"Rosemary garlic roasted chicken with honey-roasted carrots and Simon and Garfunkel potatoes," Emily answered. She took the beer from JJ and started walking into the kitchen.

"Simon and Garfunkel potatoes?" JJ asked, following close behind.

"I season them with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme," Emily informed her. "I thought of calling them Scarborough Fair potatoes, but I prefer to honor the singers, not the song."

"Sounds delicious," JJ said. Her eyes got wide. "Oh no, you have company, don't you? I'm interrupting something."

Emily shook her head. "Not at all. You're the only company I have tonight."

"You really made that whole dinner just for yourself?" JJ seemed floored by the notion.

Emily nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. If she only made nice meals when she was eating with someone else, she'd be subsisting on macaroni and cheese and frozen pizza.

"I like to cook," she said lamely. "We've just been on case after case after case lately, which usually means burgers and soggy sandwiches, so I wanted something different. Not to mention the fact that it was a crappy day. So I cooked," she repeated.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing," JJ told her. "I can barely work up the enthusiasm to make myself Hamburger Helper, let alone roast a chicken."

"Have you eaten already?" Emily asked. "Everything should be ready in about…" she turned and glanced at the timer. "…three minutes. Well, thirteen. The chicken has to rest."

"That sounds amazing," JJ said. "I brought us a little something to eat, but your dinner kicks my dinner's ass."

Emily opened up the paper bag and saw brownies. "This is what you consider dinner?"

"Chocolate happens to pair very well with beer," JJ defended. "Not to mention I brought this."

JJ held up her phone.

Emily smiled. "Well, now we have dinner _and_ dessert. And we don't need that," she added pointing at JJ's phone.

At that moment, the timer went off. Emily took the chicken out of the oven and covered it with foil. She turned the oven up to finish the carrots and potatoes. She grabbed a plate and silverware for JJ and set it out on the table. She removed the wine glass from her own place setting and put it back in the cupboard.

"Do you want anything else to drink? Water? Iced tea?" Emily offered.

"Why fill up on something else when there's beer?" JJ asked as she opened two bottles and handed one to Emily. "This is more of the beer from Colorado. I'm _so_ glad we're exempt from the three-ounce rule."

"How much beer did you get?" Emily asked, wondering how she missed JJ lugging boxes of beer onto the plane.

"Two cases," JJ said nonchalantly. "Morgan and I loaded them on the plane, but you were being all pensive, looking out the window and didn't notice anything."

Emily nodded, realizing what she was talking about. Before JJ could make an attempt to bring up their conversation from that plane ride, Emily decided to change the subject.

"Why don't you sit at the table? Everything will be done in a few minutes," Emily said, handing JJ her beer.

She pulled out some of her servingware that had been languishing unused in her cabinets since she moved to D.C. As it turned out, not having any friends meant not having any dinner parties. And while she was more than willing to make a four-course meal for herself, she just couldn't bring herself to use the fancy serving trays to do it.

Emily expertly carved the chicken and arranged everything on the trays. She glanced at JJ, who had obviously been watching her the whole time. Emily's cheeks flushed again thinking about the feelings that had arisen while she and JJ sipped beers in her hotel room two weeks ago. She decided to wash her hands again just so she could turn away from JJ for a bit while she composed herself. She imagined washing all those feelings down the drain.

She sighed; if only it were that easy.

"That looks amazing," JJ gushed when Emily brought the trays to the table. "You okay? You look a little flushed."

"I've just been standing next to a four-hundred-and-fifty degree oven. Not only am I flushed, I'm actually sweating a little," she admitted. "That was probably more information than you needed, wasn't it?"

"Believe me when I say there is nothing that could spoil my appetite right now." JJ actually looked as though she might start drooling if Emily didn't give her the plate with food promptly. No sooner than the plate hit the table, JJ sank her knife and fork into the chicken.

Emily watched in amusement as JJ's eyes closed and a contented expression made its way across her face.

"Can I come to dinner every night?" JJ asked. "This is… I'm not sure there are enough synonyms for amazing to cover just how delicious this is."

"Thanks," Emily said. Even though she was perfectly content cooking just for herself, she had forgotten how nice it felt to cook for someone else. "Although I can't imagine you'd want to really drive an hour and a half out of your way every night just to eat dinner here."

"For food like this, you better believe I would," JJ said. "It's simply phenomenal, stupendous, sensational…"

"Now you just sound like you're reciting from the thesaurus," Emily joked.

"Superlative," JJ said in response.

Emily just shook her head, smiling. She remembered JJ's overly effusive descriptions of the food when they had gone out to lunch her first day at the BAU.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"Whenever my mom was posted somewhere, we always had housekeepers and cooks. Usually I ate dinner with them, and then eventually they started teaching me to cook."

"That's sad," JJ said.

"That I learned to cook?" Emily asked, genuinely confused.

"No, that you ate dinner with your housekeeper or cook," JJ clarified.

"And my nanny," Emily added. "Why is that sad? I learned to cook and always had entertaining dinner conversations. It was better than when my parents ate with me where dinner conversations were dominated either by boring discussions of politics or awkward silences. I'm guessing that with your happy family, you ate dinner together, didn't you?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," JJ said. "But yeah, we ate together most nights. My mom's cooking couldn't hold a candle to this meal. I think I learned my Hamburger Helper techniques from her."

"I guess that's why they're called family dinners, not fantastic food dinners," Emily commented.

"So, what's up?" Emily asked after a few moments of conversationless eating.

"What do you mean _what's up_?" JJ asked, taking more carrots onto her plate.

"I mean…well, first there was the beer in Denver. And well…" Emily let her sentence trail off, realizing it was rude to come out and bluntly ask _why are you here?_

"You want to know why I keep showing up at your doorstep with beer." JJ put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth.

Emily felt her cheeks flushing again. "Not that I don't like beer, or your company. I don't know… I'm just not used to…"

She stopped herself before she finished the sentence. _I'm just not used to having friends_. Emily had learned that friendlessness begets friendlessness, so it was probably not the best thing to admit. Other feelings aside, Emily didn't want to risk losing JJ's potential friendship.

Emily took a bite of chicken, as though that were an adequate way to complete her thought.

"I don't have an ulterior motive if that's what you're worried about," JJ said in a light, almost joking tone. The slight furrowing of her eyebrows and downturn of the corners of her lips were the only indication to Emily that the blonde was hurt by her implications.

"Oh, I didn't think that," Emily said quickly. Her response was a little too rushed to be completely convincing.

She shook her head. This was obviously not the conversation JJ came over to have; it wasn't even one that Emily wanted to have.

"I'm sorry," Emily said. "The last few months have been…"

She paused, searching for the right word. "Hard."

"That's why I'm here. I walked through my door this evening, and all I could think about was how horrible the world is," JJ said with a shrug. "And I couldn't stand the idea of sitting there thinking about that by myself. So I came to see you."

Emily nodded. "I'm flattered that I'm one you want to think about that with."

JJ gave her a strange look, causing her to add, "That sounded sarcastic. It wasn't."

"Shit, I'm sorry. I haven't really made many friends since moving here. Clearly I'm out of practice," Emily said. _Any friends_, was more accurate. She felt her cheeks flush again.

"That's why I brought the beer," JJ said. "It's a good communication liaison."

Emily smiled. "I suppose if you got the journalists hammered before a press conference, they might be more docile."

"Or more hostile," JJ pointed out. "It depends on how much we give them."

"Well, it's not as though some of those press conferences don't end up like bar fights anyway."

JJ sighed. "We're getting too close to talking about work. Did you live in D.C. growing up?" she asked, abruptly switching topics.

"Sort-of. My parents own a house in Arlington, which is where we stayed whenever we were in the States between assignments. We lived there until I was four. Then my mother got posted in Bulgaria, so we moved there when I was in kindergarten."

It was amazing that the mere mention of the words Bulgaria and kindergarten was still enough to turn Emily's stomach.

JJ cocked her head to the side. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Emily was genuinely confused.

"Whenever you talk about Bulgaria you get this look on your face like you just smelled a pile of rotting garbage," JJ explained. "You did the same thing when we were talking at lunch that first day."

Emily was taken aback by JJ's observations. First and foremost that she had made them in the first place and secondly that she remembered Emily's facial expressions from a year ago. She had never discussed that day in kindergarten to anyone. In her mind, that day had been the one where Emily was marked to be a friendless outcast for the rest of her life.

"Well, it's not really the best dinner table story," Emily prefaced.

JJ shrugged, taking another bite of potato. "How many times have we talked about rape and murder while eating?"

It was a hard point to argue.

"When I was in Bulgaria, I went to public school, so I wasn't allowed to speak English. Only Bulgarian. Which was fine because I learned it pretty quickly," Emily said shrugging. She decided to not add that her impetus was being teased mercilessly and not understanding what they were saying.

"One day, uh, we were practicing reading on the carpet, and my stomach had been hurting all day. It just kept getting worse, and I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. I tried to ask the teacher if I could be excused to go to the bathroom, but since I wasn't feeling good and because things were getting sort-of urgent I couldn't remember how to ask in Bulgarian." Emily took a deep breath.

"So I asked in English and everyone started laughing and the teacher yelled at me, and then I threw up all over myself and Ivan Todorov," Emily said, sliding her hand over her stomach. "When I say it out loud like that, it seems ridiculous that more than thirty years later it still bothers me."

JJ's face softened. "We can't control how situations affect us. Obviously it was a huge deal at the time and so it still matters. What happened next?"

"I started crying, Ivan punched me, and I was sent to the principal's office. My nanny took me home, and my mother was angry with me," Emily listed quickly.

"Why was your mom mad at you?" JJ asked indignantly. "You were five! And sick!"

"It's complicated." Emily said, not wanting to get into the whole over-eating to please her parents part of the story. She did everything she could to keep her father from being displeased with her, but it didn't matter because he never took her out on another father-daughter excursion again. All in all, it was a story made up of nothing but layers of humiliation and disappointment.

Every time she thought about that day, first her body remembered the nausea and embarrassment of throwing up in front of the entire class. Then her mind remembered that her happiness about her trip to the zoo with her father only compounded the shame she felt for disappointing him and angering her mother. She took a bite of potatoes trying to get her mind and body to move to another subject.

"Why do you do that?" Just like the first time JJ asked, Emily had no idea what she was doing to prompt that question.

"Well, why do _you_ keep doing _that_?" Emily retorted. The words came out more harshly than she had intended.

JJ looked taken aback. "What?"

"Ask me why I'm doing what I'm doing when I have no idea what I'm doing that's making you ask me why I'm doing it." To mask how defensive she felt, Emily forced her tone of voice to stay light, almost as though she were joking.

"I'm sorry, you're right. I just notice that when we talk you have certain things you always do. Like you looking like you're going to vomit when you say _Bulgaria_, which makes sense now." JJ said. "And when you talk about yourself, it's like you give out a little bit of information, and then you stop abruptly and change the subject."

"So you're profiling me?" Emily asked.

"No," JJ said quickly. "Well, I guess so, yeah."

Emily shook her head. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just that you're so hard to read sometimes. I mean, as a friend." JJ spoke hesitantly, like she was having trouble figuring out exactly how to say what she wanted to say.

Emily wished she hadn't asked. If JJ thought that about her, what must the rest of the team think? Once again the phrase _frigid bitch_ tumbled into her mind. She thought of Sophie, who was the one who had shouted those words at Emily before storming out of her apartment. It was the last passionate thing that Sophie ever said to her. The next day Emily was given the talk that started with, _we need to talk_. And then continued with, _this just isn't working. I'm not getting what I need from this relationship. You're not good enough for me._ To be fair, Sophie hadn't said that last part, but it rang in Emily's ears nonetheless.

"Shit, Emily, I'm sorry," JJ said, the regret written across her face. "I didn't mean to…"

"You didn't," Emily said, realizing that she must have let her facial expression give her away while she was lost in her memory of her fight with Sophie. Emily tried to salvage things remembering some of the manners lessons that her mother had instilled on her. _Never let a guest feel uncomfortable. It is your job as host to do everything in your power to keep that from happening. Their comfort is more important than yours._

"I did. I showed up at your doorstep uninvited, forced myself on you as a dinner guest, and now I've insulted you and hurt your feelings," JJ insisted. She put down her knife and fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

"Wait, JJ, don't." Emily took in a deep breath, noticing that JJ was halfway to standing up and leaving. "I'm glad you came over. It's my pleasure to have you at my dinner table; you didn't force yourself at all. And even if you did a little, I'm glad," she added.

"You're right, I don't share much of my past. It's just that…" Emily paused. She tried to come up with a reason why she's a closed off frigid bitch. A reason that wasn't the truth. She couldn't find one.

"Everyone thinks it's glamorous or exotic to grow up in five different countries and speak five different languages. They don't think about that for each of the five different moves we made, I spent the first few months not speaking the language, not having any friends, and generally being miserable."

Emily looked up from her plate and saw JJ looking at her intently, her face revealing that she was one of those people who assumed glamour.

"I don't really share much from my childhood because it's not really full of happy, heart-warming, family dinner-type stories," Emily said honestly. She felt incredibly exposed. But she figured since she was already metaphorically stripped down to her underwear, she may as well just go the full Monty.

"My mother was mad at me because my father had taken me to the zoo the day before, and he let me have whatever snacks I wanted. So of course I filled up on ice cream and pastries. By time we got home, I had no appetite for dinner. But my mother said that Miss Anna, our cook, would be mad if I didn't eat the dinner that she had made for me."

Emily paused. She could probably stop the story there, and JJ would be satisfied with the knowledge of why her mother was mad at her.

She could stop. But JJ showed up at her doorstep looking for someone to talk to. JJ trusted her. And deep down Emily trusted JJ. At least she _wanted_ to trust JJ.

"So I sat down at the dinner table with my parents and ate everything on my plate. I worried if I didn't eat everything my mother would be angry with my father for allowing me to eat my way through the zoo. If my mother was angry with him, then my father would be angry with me, and he'd never take me surprise trips again. So to ensure that my parents wouldn't be mad at me, I stuffed myself to the point of getting sick the next day in class."

Emily took a few breaths; she felt winded from sharing the story.

"I can see why you preferred to eat with your housekeeper over your parents," JJ said. "I used to purposefully try to make my parents mad by making my little brother laugh so hard that milk would come out his nose."

"I'm glad you've outgrown that tactic," Emily said smiling at the image.

"Have I?" JJ asked, a mischievous expression on her face.

"Did you want any more food?" Emily asked, seeing that JJ's plate was empty.

"Mm-mm," JJ said shaking her head. For a brief moment, Emily thought about Matthew.

"I'm completely stuffed," JJ said, sitting back in the chair. "Well, except for that little bit of space I reserved for the brownie."

Emily picked up the serving dishes to put the leftover food away and was surprised when JJ followed her in to the kitchen carrying the plates.

"You don't have to do that," Emily insisted.

"Pfft…" JJ gestured dismissively. "Everyone knows that she who eats without cooking does the dishes. You can put the leftovers away, but I'm doing the dishes."

"You are _definitely _welcome to come over anytime," Emily said with a smile.

"I'm holding you to that," JJ told her with a wink.

Emily was grateful that JJ was behind her because she could feel her cheeks get warm. _Again._ This had to stop. There were rules about this sort of situation. Even if there weren't explicit federal regulations, there were many instances of agents suddenly being transferred without warning shortly after a romantic relationship came to light.

But that didn't matter. Because Emily had rules about romantic relationships and the workplace. Number one: don't come out. Number two: don't date co-workers. Number three: don't date anyone your co-workers know. There were several other rules, but since that fluttering feeling in Emily's stomach would lead to the breaking of rules numbers one through three, it wasn't worth running through the others.

Emily focused on putting the leftovers away, while JJ stood at the sink washing the dishes.

"Don't bother with the cooking ware," Emily told her. "They need to soak. And the dishes can just dry in the rack."

She went over to the refrigerator and pulled out two more beers. "Do you want another one?"

"Only if I can drink it while you give me the grand tour."

Emily quickly thought about the state of each room. She had simply thrown her go-bag on the bedroom floor when she got home, so there shouldn't be any random articles of clothing strewn around the room. And she hadn't done laundry in an unfortunately long time so no lingerie laying around.

"No problem," Emily said, handing her the beer once she finished running through her mental checklist.

Emily led JJ upstairs to show her the bedroom and guest room.

"Oh, this tub looks simply divine," JJ said, when they stopped in the master bathroom.

"It's where I do my unthinking," Emily explained.

"The way things have been going these last few months, I'm not sure that I'd ever get out of there," JJ commented. "You wanna go out?"

"What?" Emily was caught off-guard by JJ's sudden change in subject.

"Out. Like dancing or something," JJ clarified. "You live so close to downtown, I'm sure there are places we can walk to from here."

"Um, sure," Emily said. "There's a pub a few blocks away, which is mostly a sit and drink place. Umm, and if we go a few blocks in the other direction there are a few dance clubs. Two of them are, uh, gay bars. Good music and dancing."

"Say no more, let's go there," JJ said. "I'm so not in the mood to be hit on."

Emily nodded. "Be that as it may, I'm still going to put on some jeans that are a little _less_ comfortable." Getting hit on or not, Emily refused to go out in her ratty jeans and Yale sweatshirt.

Her eyes moved up and down JJ, taking note of the tight purple t-shirt and jeans.

"Checkin' me out, Prentiss?" JJ asked, clearly catching Emily in her appraisal of her outfit. "Do I pass muster?"

"I wasn't…" Emily started. "Yeah, you look fine," she said, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. "But if you want to borrow anything, just let me know."

"Maybe just some make-up?" JJ asked.

"It's all in the bathroom," Emily said, going into her bedroom to change. While Emily had no intention to make any effort to pick anyone up this evening, it certainly wouldn't hurt to dress up a bit. She pulled on her favorite pair of jeans and a low cut red shirt.

She followed JJ into the bathroom and was secretly pleased to see JJ's eyes do the same once-over to her.

"Acceptable?" Emily asked.

"Most definitely," JJ said with a wink.

The warmth in Emily's cheeks turned to an unbearable heat. "Let's go," she said, turning around before her cheeks burst into flames.

.oOo.

"This is great!" JJ said, tossing back another tequila shot.

Emily smiled. She couldn't remember a time feeling this relaxed; two beers and two tequila shots had Emily in the sweet spot between buzzed and drunk. The ever-present censor in her mind that ensured all actions and statements were appropriately constrained was apparently tipsy as well because it made no effort to prevent her from turning to JJ when a particularly catchy song started to play.

"Let's dance," she offered, already sashaying out toward the dance floor.

As her hips began to sway back and forth, Emily was grateful for the confidence boost that only tequila can provide. She felt JJ's hands settle on her swaying hips and didn't bother fighting the feeling of excitement that settled in her stomach. There was a freedom in letting her body simply follow the rhythm of the music, not caring whether it meant brushing up against JJ or grabbing her by the hand and spinning her around.

When the song _I Touch Myself_ came on, Emily was shocked when JJ suddenly started mouthing the words and seductively acting out the song. But she was still buzzed enough to go along with it, returning JJ's gestures. By time the song ended, they were both laughing so hard they could barely dance.

"Another round?" JJ asked. Emily nodded without thinking.

"I still remember when the DJ played that song at our eighth grade dance party," JJ said as they sat down with their beers. "I thought Mrs. Emerson's head was going to explode. She was our English teacher, and let's just say that she wasn't the most open-minded woman," JJ clarified.

"You were in eighth grade when that song came out?" Emily asked, suddenly feeling very old. "I was in college."

JJ shrugged. "So you're an old fart. Who cares? You still look damn hot on the dance floor."

Emily picked up her beer and took a large sip. Did JJ just call her an old fart? And a hot dancer? Not sure which comment to respond to, she took another swallow of beer.

"That chick in the blue dress has totally been undressing you with her eyes," JJ said looking in the direction of the bar.

Sure enough, Emily glanced over to where JJ was indicating and saw that there was a very pretty woman looking intently in her direction.

"She probably doesn't know how old you are, though," JJ said with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Maybe she's checking _you_ out, not realizing that you got carded trying to buy that beer," Emily joked back.

JJ shook her head. "You're definitely the one who she has the hots for. I'll prove it."

Before Emily could react, JJ leaned across the table and kissed her on the lips. When she realized it wasn't just a quick peck, Emily felt herself relax into the warm comfort of having JJ's lips on hers. Almost instinctively she felt her lips parting, and then suddenly her brain turned back on.

_Rule one, don't come out._

_Never let someone know how much something means to you_.

Before both of those rules could be smashed to smithereens, Emily's brain took over, and she pulled back from the kiss. Before the appropriate question could form in her mind, JJ spoke up.

"See? Blue Dress looks ticked," she remarked.

Emily paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "I'm not sure that proves anything since her annoyance does not differentiate between the kisser and the kissee."

"Hmmm." JJ looked like she was giving Emily's point some serious thought. "Oh well," she said, shrugging. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Emily was nonplussed; never in her life would she have considered just leaning across the table and kissing one of her friends on the lips. She just looked at JJ, trying to figure out why she just kissed her.

Before she let herself consider any motivation other than an alcohol-induced, poorly thought-out impulse, she downed the last of her beer and gestured to the dance floor.

"Let's go," she said, hoping that dancing would make an adequate substitute for thinking.

"Lead the way, old lady," JJ said holding out her hand. Emily obliged, but having her hand in JJ's did nothing to help distract her from thinking about JJ's kiss.

Back on the dance floor, Emily let go of JJ's hand and tried to concentrate on the music. Emily closed her eyes, letting her body go with the beat of the music. With her eyes closed, Emily fought to not think about the feel of JJ's lips on her own. She tried not to think about what it would have been like if the kiss had continued.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" Emily snapped her eyes open at the sounding of JJ's teasing.

"You know us old fogeys," Emily said, smiling. "Actually I'm just enjoying the dancing. I feel like it's been forever since I've done something like this."

It really had. She had always had a hard time letting go. In part because of her training. After all, when you're undercover, getting drunk and revealing your nation's security secrets is generally frowned upon. Emily was the master at convincing bartenders to help her out by supplying her endless rounds of watered down drinks while giving her drinking companion a double share of alcohol.

"So don't kill my buzz," she warned to JJ.

"Never," JJ promised.

After a few more songs, the music slowed, and without the strong backbeat, Emily's energy started to wane. She was relieved to see JJ trying to hide a yawn behind her hand.

"Who's the old fogey now?" Emily teased. Her message would have been more biting had she been successfully able to stifle her own yawn.

"I'm sorry, Pot, but did you just call this kettle black?" JJ asked taking mock offense.

"Guilty as charged. I'm ready to crash," Emily admitted.

"Let's go old lady," JJ said, slipping her arm around Emily's waist.

.oOo.

"Thanks for tonight," Emily said as she laid out some pajamas, a towel, and some toiletries for JJ.

"Since you're the one who fed me and let me sleep over, I feel like I'm really the one who should be thanking you," JJ insisted.

"Those things are just about having manners," Emily said shrugging. "Thanks for your persistence in showing up on my doorstep with beer. It, uh, really means a lot to me."

Emily looked down and rearranged the toothbrush and toothpaste, embarrassed by her admission. "Anyway, I'm exhausted. Sleep well and don't hesitate to holler if you need anything. All the coffee stuff is on the counter next to the coffee maker," she said quickly.

"Thanks, Em." JJ walked over to where Emily was standing and put her arms around her.

As she stood there with JJ's chest pressed against hers, the only thing she could think of was how fast her heart was beating. Convinced that JJ would be able to read her true feelings from her heart rate, Emily tried desperately to slow her heart down. She was concentrating so hard on her own biofeedback rhythms that she failed to appreciate the hug for what it was.

As she pulled away from the hug, JJ placed a quick kiss on Emily's cheek. "Sweet dreams."

"You too," Emily said quickly and turned to leave the guest room before any further words or physical gestures could be exchanged.

As she closed her eyes, Emily tried to quash the tiny notion lingering on the edges of her thoughts that perhaps JJ actually reciprocated her feelings. Because the idea that Emily's feelings were reciprocated was actually more disconcerting than the fact that she had them in the first place.


	13. 1986: Rome, Italy part 3

A/N: Sorry that updates have been coming slower than usual lately. But I appreciate that you're sticking with this story. Thanks to all my readers, reviewers, favoriters, and alerters. And thanks to everyone who nominated/voted for this story in the **Best Angst** category for the **2011 Profiler's Choice Awards**. As always, a special thanks to _**nikonic**_, who's a great beta.

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><p><strong>1986 – Rome, Italy<strong>

Emily closed her eyes and leaned back. She took deep breaths trying to calm her nervous stomach. While an upset stomach had become her constant companion ever since another life took root into her own, she was fairly certain that it was the destination and not the bus ride that was causing the churning. It had been three days since she and Matthew talked with Father Gamino.

After her talks with Matthew and Father Gamino, her thoughts over the weekend were focused on accepting her pregnancy and trying to figure out a way to tell her parents and how she would survive the next eight months. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that everything would be okay and that it would all work out in the end, she never truly believed it.

_God never gives us more than we can handle._

Paola had come to talk with her Sunday afternoon. Emily knew that Paola was trying to be supportive, to let her know that she had the strength to do this. But her words did nothing more than to point out how weak Emily actually was. Her memories of grade school made her cringe, not only because all she remembers is being teased and beaten up, but because she was so bothered by it. Looking back on it, their teasing seemed so trivial; so what if they called her _vomit breath_ or didn't invite her to birthday parties? It's not as though their pinching and kicking caused any actual physical harm.

She should have been able to handle the teasing better. She should have been strong enough to keep it from hurting. She should have been strong enough to keep the hurt from affecting her.

But she wasn't. So when she finally had friends and a boyfriend, she was willing to do anything to keep them.

And look where that got her.

Fifteen years old. Pregnant. And alone.

She felt like she had been given far more than she could handle.

Maybe if God was going to give her all this, God should have made her stronger in the first place.

She knew that Paola was trying to make her feel better, but her words made Emily feel worse. She spent much of Sunday night tossing and turning, weighing her decisions.

When she woke up that Monday morning, however, the debate that had been raging in her heart and mind had calmed. It was almost as though overnight she weighed her options and decided despite Father Gamino and Paola's warnings, there was no way she could go through with the pregnancy. She felt a strange peace in her decision and knew it was time to act, before her peace and bravery disappeared.

That morning Emily had told Paola a series of believable lies: she was still too sick to go to school, but she needed to go to the library to work on her homework and that she would take the bus to the University to do some of her homework there. In actuality, Emily was on the bus heading to the town of Tivoli, which was far enough outside of Rome for her to not be recognized, but large enough to have a comprehensive women's health clinic.

She got off the bus at the Piazza and followed the map she had copied out of one of her mother's books to the Clinica di Salute delle Donne di Tivoli. Her heart was pounding as she walked into the clinic and she held her breath as she walked through the door marked 'Gravidanza'.

"Emilia Pallazzini," Emily told the receptionist, hoping that she could fool the clinic staff into believing that she was Italian.

"Penso sono incinta," she said as quietly as possible. Actually she _knew_ she was pregnant, but thought it would be better to sound somewhat uncertain.

The receptionist nodded and handed her clipboard and a specimen cup to pee in. Emily nodded and took her seat to fill out the paperwork.

#

Emily's teeth wouldn't stop chattering. It was hard to know whether it her nerves or the paper-thin gown that did almost nothing to protect her against the powerful air-conditioning in the exam room.

"Emilia?" The doctor walked into the room. "Sono Dottore Machiodi."

Emily just nodded, too scared to speak.

"Perché pensi che è incinta?" the doctor asked.

Emily swallowed hard, which was difficult because it seemed as though her mouth was completely devoid of any saliva. She started to describe her nausea and exhaustion but was so nervous that she stumbled over her words and mixed up her verb tenses.

"Parli inglese?" he asked gently.

So much for linguistic subterfuge. She nodded, her cheeks reddening. She continued with her story and by time she finished she was crying.

"Well, you are correct. Your urine test shows that you are pregnant," he told her, handing her a tissue. "We can do an ultrasound to see how far along you are."

Emily nodded again. She was silent as Dr. Machiodi went through the physical exam. She didn't even flinch when he performed a pelvic exam. She just closed her eyes and tried to think about something else. She gasped as the cold gel hit her lower abdomen even though the doctor had warned her it was coming.

She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the image on the screen.

"Well, Emilia, it seems that you are about six-and-a-half weeks along, which fits with the timing of your last sexual encounter and your last menses," Dr. Machiodi told her as he put away the ultrasound machine.

"You can call me Emily," she said.

He nodded. Emily could see the concerned look on his face and knew what he was going to say.

"Can you help me get an abortion?" she asked, not wanting to hear his questions about how she felt about being pregnant. She definitely didn't want to get any advice on staying healthy during her pregnancy.

He nodded again.

"I'll go get one of our counselors to come in and talk with you," he said, standing up.

"Are you going to try to talk me out of it?"

"Do you want me to?"

Emily shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Gianna will be in to talk with you shortly. She'll give you all the information you need. You can get dressed." He shook her hand. "I wish you luck, Emily."

#

When Emily arrived at the bus depot back in Rome, she walked to Matthew's house instead of her own. She was relieved when Matthew answered the door.

"Can you come outside for a few minutes?" Emily asked. "I just need to talk to you really quick."

Matthew nodded, shouted something at his mom, and stepped outside.

Emily quickly told him about her trip to the clinic in Tivoli and that she had an appointment for an abortion on Thursday.

"Can you come with me?" She was no longer on the verge of crying. Since talking with the counselor, Emily felt almost devoid of feeling. It would be wrong to say that she was happy about her decision or even that she was completely at peace with it. But she was ready.

"Of course. It's not even a question," Matthew told her. "I'll see if I can get my cousin's car instead of taking the bus.

"I can't believe you went without me," he added.

Emily couldn't either, but when she had woken up that morning, she felt like she needed to go to the clinic before she lost her nerve.

"It was time," she said simply. "So, I'll see you in school tomorrow?"

She didn't really want to go to school, but it would provide the distraction she needed from constantly thinking about Thursday.

"You might want to brush up on Chemistry," he suggested. "Mr. Freeman was hinting about a quiz and Suzanne is counting on you."

#

Emily was shivering as she sat on the exam table, wearing the same paper-thin gown she had worn the first time at the clinic. She stared at the white walls because there was nothing else in the room to look at. There was the exam table, a stool, and the white walls. There wasn't even a window. She had been so lost in her thoughts on the white walls that she nearly jumped off the bed when she heard the knock on the door.

"Entrare," she squeaked.

"Wow, busting out the Italian and everything." She definitely wasn't expecting Matthew at the door, but it was surprisingly comforting to see him there.

"You and my mother are way too easily impressed," Emily drolled. "She got all, _oh, your Italian is amazing. You're a linguistic genius!_ on me when we went out to lunch. I mean, I ordered soup and a Coke."

"I bet you also said please and thank you," Matthew joked.

Emily nodded. "Damn my proper upbringing." She clapped her hand over her mouth; it was probably frowned upon to swear in the doctor's office.

"Relax, Goods, it's not like we're in church," Matthew said, trying to be reassuring.

Church. She might never be in church again. How was she going to explain to her parents why Father Gamino had kicked her out of the congregation. Obviously St. Agnes was not the only Catholic Church in the city, but what if all the priests talked and Father Gamino told all the other priests to not let her in? She'd be banished from all churches in Rome. That would definitely be difficult to explain to her parents.

"Hold my hand?" she asked, the panic evident in her voice.

"Always," he assured her. "Just take a few deep breaths. The doctor should be here soon. The receptionist lady told me I could come back here since the doctor's running a little late."

The warmth of his hands on hers had an instantly calming effect.

One that was soon broken by a knock on the door.

"Emilia Pallazzini?" Emily hadn't been expecting a woman doctor.

Emily couldn't bring herself to answer so she just nodded.

"Siete pronti?" the doctor asked.

Was she ready? Would she ever be?

Emily nodded again. She pulled her hands away from Matthew's.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"I'll see you soon," he whispered back.

After Matthew left the room, the doctor asked her a few basic health questions and then a nurse came in with two large instruments in tow. The doctor started to explain the process to Emily, who just zoned out. She remembered enough details from her conversation with Gianna earlier in the week. She just wanted to get it over with.

The doctor stopped talking and helped Emily get into the stirrups. Emily looked up at the white ceiling and tried to lose herself in the blank void.

#

Despite her father's recent return and her mother's promise to be around more often, no one was home when Matthew walked Emily to the door. It was just as well since Emily hadn't been able to stop crying since the moment she got into the car.

"Does it hurt?" Matthew had asked many times during the car trip home.

Yes and no. She had some cramping, but certainly nothing that would cause her to dissolve into a sobbing mess for the last hour. She just couldn't stop the tears from coming.

She shook her head.

Matthew helped her up the stairs and as soon as she got into her bedroom she crawled into bed and curled herself into the fetal position.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

Yes and no.

She shook her head. He didn't need to stay and watch her cry. And she didn't feel like being consoled. She didn't deserve to feel better. She deserved to be in pain, she deserved to be miserable, she deserved all of this.

"I'm just going to sleep," she said. "I'll be fine."

Matthew clearly didn't believe her.

"I'll be fine enough to stay by myself until Paola gets back," she clarified. "Please."

Matthew still looked like he had his doubts, but he nodded. "Ok. I'll call you later to check in."

"Sleep well, Goods." He leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Don't call me that," she whispered. She wasn't good. She didn't deserve Matthew's kindness and friendship. She didn't deserve to have a nickname. She was Emily, poster child for peer pressure and teen pregnancy.

Matthew patted her on the arm and she heard the door close quietly.

She hugged her knees tighter and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

><p><strong>Glossary <strong>(I apologize for any mistranslations. Google Translator has its flaws.)

_Clinica di salute delle donne di Trivoli._ Women's Health Clinic of Trivoli

_Gravidanza_. Pregnancy

_Sono Dottore Machiodi._ I'm Dr. Machiodi.

_Penso sono incinta._ I think I'm pregnant.

_Perché pensi che è incinta?_ Why do you think you are pregnant?

_Parli inglese?_ Do you speak English?

_Entrare_. Come in.

_Siete pronti_? Are you ready?


	14. 2007: Washington DC

A/N: Thanks for your continued support and reading, and I really appreciate everyone who's taken the time to review. And a huge thanks to one of the best betas on the block - **_nikonic_**.

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><p><strong>2007 – Quantico, VA<strong>

Emily woke up with her heart pounding in her ears, and she could barely catch her breath. It was the third nightmare in so many nights since returning from Great Falls, Montana. It's not as though this was her first case where all the victims were brunettes, more specifically targeted _because_ they were brunettes. Generally she was unphased by the victimology, so she couldn't figure out why she had woken up in a cold sweat for the last three nights with the image of a man with a scar on his left cheek leering at her still in her mind.

"Fuck," she whispered, throwing the covers off of herself. It was only two in the morning. If she were an optimist she would think, _great, if I fall asleep now, I'll still have four-and-a-half hours before my alarm goes off._

But she was a realist. She'd been having nightmares long enough to know that it was more a matter of being awake, anxious, and shaky for the next four-and-a-half hours until she got up to get ready for work.

She padded down the stairs to the kitchen with the intention of making herself tea. But before settling on the teakettle, her eyes wandered to the bottle of red wine that she had started at dinner the night before.

_Oh, what the hell_, she thought. _It's not as though the camomile tea really works anyway._

She poured herself a glass and settled on the couch to watch some TV and wait for her body to stop feeling like she just ran a marathon. She had a few episodes of _Battlestar Galactica_ on her DVR and pulled one of them up. It was one she'd already watched, which was good because even after only a few sips, the wine was starting to make her feel a little more relaxed.

#

Emily jerked awake again; her heart was beating fast, but she didn't have that overwhelming sense of fear as she did when she woke up from one of her nightmares. She could hear an incessant beeping coming from upstairs.

"Shit!" She jumped from the couch when she saw that it was five past seven. "Shit!" she exclaimed again for good measure. Not only was she running late, but her neck and back felt like she'd just fallen asleep while attempting some circus-act contortionism.

She ran upstairs and turned off her alarm clock. She stared at the clock as though it would have the answer as to whether she had enough time for a shower. She ran her hand through her hair and that answered her question; she definitely needed a shower.

She stood under the hot water, wishing desperately that it would undo the knots in her neck and back. She spent more time letting the hot water cascade over her than she should have given the circumstances, but when she got out the of shower she actually felt better. She threw on some clothes, made a half-hearted attempt at doing her make-up, and grabbed a bagel before running out the door.

#

"…and fourteen new consults for Prentiss." Emily heard JJ say as she slid into her seat in the conference room. The briefing had already started and clearly JJ had already started going through the cases.

"Ha ha," Emily said, narrowing her eyes at JJ.

"It's what happens when you're late, Princess," Morgan said with a smile. "We've decided all cases should be assigned based on a _not it_ methodology."

Both he and Reid simultaneously put their index fingers on their respective noses.

"Cute," Emily said trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "Have you been practicing?"

"The Nose Goes has been a widely acception selection method for decades. It made its first appearance in popular culture in 1979 in the movie _Meatballs_," Reid explained.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Now that we've wasted another four minutes of everyone's time, let's get back to the cases, shall we? Especially since _everyone_ is actually here."

Emily didn't miss his pointed expression or tone of voice. She looked over at Rossi, who had a bemused expression on his face. She felt like she should be trying harder to impress him; after all, he was considered the grandfather of profiling. When JJ started to speak, Emily turned quickly to face the front of the room and winced as her neck muscles restated their displeasure with her sleep posture last night.

"No new travelling cases today and we're not back in the queue for travelling until Monday, so I figured we may as well plow through the backlog of cases that have been piling up on my desk," JJ explained. "And of course when I say _we_, I mean _you_."

"Can't you force her to take the profiling course?" Morgan asked, turning to Hotch.

"Number one, not _everyone _wants to be a profiler," JJ said, not giving Hotch a chance to respond. "And number two, I'm certainly not going to do it just to relieve your lazy ass of some work."

Hotch just shrugged his shoulders when Morgan looked at him with raised eyebrows.

JJ walked around the table handing out the files. When she got to Morgan, she paused and quickly grabbed the top file off of the stack in front of Reid. She stuck it on Morgan's pile.

"Hey!" Morgan exclaimed.

"Hey!" Emily echoed.

"What are you hey'ing about, Prentiss?" Morgan asked indignantly. "I'm the one with the extra file."

"I know. But why did it have to come from Reid's pile? _I _should be the one with one fewer file," Emily explained.

"Actually, I believe that it's most appropriate that _I _have the least number of files. Based on our prior physical fitness testing, my arm muscle strength was considerably less than both yours and Morgan's. Therefore, I shouldn't be expected to carry such heavy piles of paper," Reid pointed out.

"Are you kidding me, man?" Morgan said shaking his head.

"Well, as much fun as it is to watch the three of you bicker like a bunch of second-graders, I'm off to work on these," Rossi said picking up his files and standing up.

"He started it," Emily said, pointing at Morgan.

"I don't think you're helping," Reid told her as Hotch stood up, also shaking his head and wearing a bemused expression.

"Oh shut up, spaghetti arms," Emily said, sticking her tongue out at him. "I'm going to go work on these." Her attempt to exit in a huff would have been more effective if she hadn't winced when her neck muscles twinged again.

#

"Are you okay, Em?" JJ asked.

Emily felt warm hands on her shoulders and turned upward to face her. She regretted that movement and was unable to hide her discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Emily said, knowing that she looked and sounded unconvincing. She nearly jumped out of her seat when JJ's thumb pressed into the back of her neck.

"Oh yeah, you seem _fine_," JJ retorted, continuing to apply steady pressure to the knotted muscles in Emily's neck and shoulders.

"Do we all get massages, JJ?" Morgan asked.

"If you get those reports on my desk in the next fifteen minutes, I'll give you a massage, too," JJ promised.

Emily laughed when she saw Morgan's expression of frustration. "I swear you dropped another file on there on when I went to the bathroom."

"It's true, I did," Emily whispered loudly to JJ, who laughed.

"What are you doing for dinner tonight?" JJ asked.

"I hadn't thought about it, but I have no plans to deviate from my usual dinner M.O."

"Can I come over?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, Prentiss, can I come over?" Morgan parroted.

"Why are you acting like a third-grader today?" Emily asked Morgan, ignoring both requests.

"Cuz I wanna." Morgan raised his eyebrows, almost challengingly.

"You're insufferable." Emily rolled her eyes. Morgan just gave her an exasperated look and turned back to his pile of files.

"Dinner?" JJ repeated, continuing her massage.

"Sure," Emily agreed, distracted by the feeling of JJ's hands on her skin. "Any requests?"

"If you're cooking, I'm eating."

"Then I should probably stop being distracted by you rubbing my neck and finish these write-ups," Emily replied.

The massage tapered off, and Emily found herself biting the inside of her cheek, trying to keep herself from breaking out in goose bumps as JJ's fingers brushed lightly against her skin.

"Let me know when you're ready to leave," JJ said, giving her an extra pat on the shoulder before turning to head back to her office.

As Emily turned back to the file she had been working on, she realized that her palms were sweating and her heart was pounding. _Shit_, Emily thought putting her forehead in her hands, _this has to stop._

She tried to distract herself by delving into her consults, an effort that was only partially effective. Luckily Morgan was still acting like a petulant child, so she was more successful at distracting herself by continuing to needle him.

#

"I still have two more consults to finish, but I'm done for the day." Emily poked her head into JJ's office. "I'm going to head out. You're welcome to just come over whenever you get out of here."

"I have a proposal for you," JJ said, waving Emily in and motioning her to sit down. "I was thinking maybe you could teach me how to cook. I could come back to your place now with you, and you can show me how to work your culinary magic."

Emily mentally surveyed her refrigerator and realized that the only dinner ingredients she had were leftover tomato sauce, chili in the freezer, and eggs. Her mind fast-forwarded through going grocery shopping with JJ, having a lengthy and educational cooking experience, and then a long dinner. She had to keep from groaning since her original plan had been to go home, heat up something from the freezer, take a hot bath, and go to bed.

"I'm not really sure that tonight's a good night for that," Emily told her and was about to continue when JJ cut her off.

"It was presumptuous of me to ask," JJ said, her face a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment.

"I should have led with _I'd love to give you cooking lessons_, but I don't have much in my house other than a few random things that together do not make a meal," Emily explained. "Truthfully, I was planning on defrosting something. And since the microwave does most of the heavy lifting in that task, I'm afraid there's not much for you to learn from it."

JJ nodded. "I understand."

"If you're free this weekend, we could do our first lesson on Saturday," Emily offered. "And if you want some chili, then you're welcome to come over tonight."

JJ smiled. "This weekend is a little busy for me, but that's okay, I can wait. It's not as though I'm going to run out of mac and cheese anytime soon, but chili tonight sounds great. And in return, I can give you another massage to help loosen those knots in your neck."

Emily's mouth went dry, all the moisture suddenly flooding to her palms. Had tonight just gone from having dinner to _Having Dinner_? Emily had never been particularly skilled at determining when someone was inviting her to go out for coffee versus _Coffee_, or when things were a date or _A_ _Date_. So was tonight dinner and a massage or _Dinner and a Massage_?

"Um, okay," Emily agreed meekly.

"Do you mind if I just get a ride with you? Since we're going to the same place and all," JJ asked.

"How will you get home?" Emily asked, both hoping and petrified that JJ had already thought that through and was asking to stay over. JJ lived just outside of Quantico, about forty minutes from Emily's apartment in D.C., so it wasn't as though they were close to each other.

"Oh yeah, I forgot that detail," JJ said, furrowing her brow. "Never mind."

Emily paused, debating whether she should invite JJ to sleep over. After all, she wasn't inviting her to _Sleep Over_, just sleep in the guest bedroom again.

"You're welcome to stay over," Emily said, trying to sound casual and nonchalant. _You're friends_, she reminded herself. _Friends sleep over at each other's houses when it's inconvenient for one to return home. You've done it before._

JJ shrugged and Emily couldn't help but wondering if she was trying to appear casual and nonchalant as well. "I have my go-bag with me. Do you mind waiting another twenty minutes or so? I just have two calls I need to finish before I can get out of here."

#

"Hmm, I would've have pegged you as an NPR listener," JJ said as Emily hit play on her iPod and Spanish guitar music filled the car.

"On the way to work, yes. The drive home, however, is dedicated to the effort of trying to forget that there's a world that exists outside of my bathtub." Emily lowered the volume of the music. "If you'd rather listen to something else, feel free to search my playlists."

"This is good," JJ said. She leaned forward and picked up Emily's iPod anyway. "But I still want to check out your playlists."

"Okay, but no profiling allowed," Emily warned.

"I'm not a profiler," JJ insisted.

"You might have the boys fooled with that ruse, but not me," Emily said with a smile. "And as long as you don't use your skills for evil, your secret is safe with me."

"I don't understand why you all insist that every insight about someone is gained through _profiling_," JJ said raising her hands to do finger quotes for emphasis. "It's called friendship and paying attention to the people in your life."

Emily shrugged. "True, I guess I just try not to let my brain dissect my co-workers' actions too much. I mean, do I wonder why Reid prefers to give a short half-wave instead of a handshake? Sure, but it's not like I try to make large inferences into his personality based on the fact he prefers to not touch people's hands."

"It's because he knows that people judge you based on that handshake – is your grip firm enough? Too firm? Are your hands sweaty? Are they soft? Too soft? He figures that people might think he's a quirky germaphobe if he just waves, but they won't be able to run through the traditional list of things a handshake tells you," JJ stated matter-of-factly.

"Really? He told you that?" Emily asked. The explanation was equal parts ridiculous and plausible.

"No." JJ shook her head. "But I figure that it's either that or sheltoelnophobia." Emily glanced at her quizzically. "You know, the fear of having your fingers crushed," JJ explained as though it were a fact Emily should know.

"Ok, so did you know that word before or after you started thinking about Reid's weird handshake issues?" Emily asked only because of JJ's know-it-all tone of voice.

"After," JJ admitted, sounding contrite.

Absentmindedly, Emily reached up and started to rub her neck, which ached more now that she was driving and turning her head from side to side. There was a part of her that was starting to regret having agreed to JJ inviting herself over for dinner. Ever since JJ had started doing things like showing up at her door with beer, kissing her in a bar, and massaging her neck, Emily's ability to compartmentalize her feelings for her co-worker had gone right out the window. She was tired; her head and neck ached, and now she was anxious that she would eventually slip up somehow and reveal her feelings to JJ. It was a lot of effort for a Wednesday night.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" Emily asked, trying to get away from the topic of profiling each other's personality quirks.

"Oh, just some stuff with some people," JJ stammered. "What kind of chili is it?"

Emily was startled by the guilt in JJ's voice and her sudden change in subject. But following her strong insistence about not profiling each other, Emily tried to ignore the questions that suddenly entered her mind.

"Moose." Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw JJ's jaw drop. "It's good. My uncle lives in Maine, and he bagged it a few weeks ago."

"Don't you feel at all cannibalistic eating moose?"

"Cannibalistic?" Emily couldn't figure out what JJ was referring to. She was about to ask for some clarification, but then remembered she had told JJ the story about dressing up like a moose in Glacier National Park. She laughed. "I never even thought about it that way, but now that you mention it…

"Nah, I don't think I'm going to have a problem with it," Emily decided after pretending to think about it for a moment.

"Well, if you don't, I definitely don't." JJ smiled and Emily turned her attention back to the road, trying to squelch the butterflies flitting around in her stomach.

#

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable in the living room," Emily suggested when they got into her apartment.

"I know the microwave is the key player, but I can help with dinner," JJ insisted.

"I'll let you help, I promise. I just want to straighten a few things up," Emily explained. Between being away on two cases in the last few weeks and not really sleeping since her arrival home, her ability to keep things orderly at home had dissipated.

"No pressure from me," JJ said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, I know," Emily assured her. _Your home is a reflection of who you are. Never forget that you are a Prentiss._ She often wondered whether her mother was truly worried that she'd ever forget her status as a Prentiss, and that was the reason why she felt it was so important remind her at every opportunity.

JJ went over to Emily's bookshelf and was already looking through the titles by time Emily realized that she had escaped into her own head for a beat too long. She hurried upstairs to hide all evidence of her insomnia and anything else that might offer any additional insight into herself. After her burst of frenetic cleaning activity, she sat down on her bed to take a few moments to get herself re-centered before dinner. And conversation…with JJ. And potentially a massage…from JJ.

"Emily?"

JJ's voice interrupted her introspection.

"You don't have to iron your sheets, you know," JJ called out.

Emily glanced at her watch and realized that she'd been up in her bedroom for nearly fifteen minutes. She was certain that leaving one's guest alone for fifteen minutes broke at least one of her mother's hostess rules, but at the moment she couldn't recall which one it was exactly.

Stopping her introspection cold, Emily jumped off her bed and hurried back downstairs. "Sorry," she said, guiltily. She knew that she sounded like she'd just been caught hiding her porn collection, so she changed the subject.

"We can make either cornbread or cheddar beer bread to go with the chili," she suggested, already knowing JJ's response.

"I can't believe you had to ask," JJ said shaking her head. "I understand not wanting to profile me, but really, Em, I'm disappointed."

"Cornbread it is then."

"You jerk," JJ said punching her in the arm.

"You always save the olives for the end of the salad because they're your favorite. You always make sure to save one last bite of bacon or sausage to eat with your last bite of pancake. That means you prefer to save things to ensure you'll be able to enjoy them in the future," Emily explained. "It's called delaying gratification. The ability to delay gratification has been linked to intelligence and performance on standardized tests. You got a 1600 on your SATs."

"Now you sound like Reid," JJ told her. "And I still don't understand your point."

"My point is that an intelligent, beer-loving woman who prefers to delay gratification would mostly likely choose the cornbread to ensure there is sufficient beer to drink with the meal," Emily said.

"You have a six-pack in the fridge," JJ pointed out. "There's plenty of beer for both purposes. You should have profiled that if you left me alone long enough, I would've gone through your fridge and pantry.

"Which I did, of course," JJ admitted and added, "and your books and your DVDs."

Emily smiled and shook her head. She wished that the feelings she had for JJ were purely physical because then they would be easier to shake off. But unfortunately getting to know JJ better only led to finding more things to find attractive.

#

"Now where do you keep your massage oil?" JJ asked.

After a delicious and filling dinner of moose chili and cheddar beer bread, she and Emily had sprawled out on the couch watching T.V.

"I'm single and live alone. Why would I own massage oil?" Emily asked, her heart starting to pound in her chest at the prospect of another shoulder massage.

"Because you never know when someone's going to come over and surprise you with a massage." JJ's tone of voice made Emily imagine that she must have several bottles of massage oil at home.

"Given that I've made it thirty-seven years without that ever happening, I guess it never occurred to me."

"You have lotion, right?"

Emily nodded.

"Good enough." JJ stood up. "Sitting up or lying down?"

"You don't really have to give me a massage, Jayje," Emily insisted. "I'm happy to have you over for dinner. It's nice to have the company."

"I know I don't _have_ to give you a massage, but the way you've been moving today just makes my neck ache by looking at you." JJ said, coming behind Emily and placing her hands on her shoulders. Emily shuddered when JJ's thumbs began to softly rub circles along her skin.

Emily had mastered the ability to keep a neutral expression under almost every circumstance; however, she had never managed to control her tendency to break out in goose bumps. Before she knew it, she could feel familiar tingling in her skin.

"Feel good?" JJ asked.

Emily sucked in a sharp breath as she was suddenly flooded with the memory of the first night she spent with Ian Doyle. She leaned forward as though she were trying to escape the memory.

JJ stopped rubbing, but didn't take her hands away. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Emily let out her breath slowly. "I just…you know when suddenly you remember something and it's almost like you're there?"

"Mm hmm." JJ restarted her massage. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Not right now," Emily said. _Not ever. _She leaned back into JJ's touch, concentrating on the present instead of the past.

Pre-Ian, Emily never had the occasion to get a massage. It's not as though she and the Ambassador ever did mother-daughter spa days or anything like that. Her first massage, romantic or otherwise, was courtesy of Ian Doyle. They had just met for the first time at the bar, and she let him take her home.

"_Ohhhh," she groaned as she got out of the car._

"_Everything all right, love?" Ian had asked._

"_I think I just overdid it on my run yesterday." Emily smiled coyly. She rubbed her lower back, taking the opportunity to stick her chest out a little more. _

_Ian stepped around her and put his hands on her shoulders. He kissed the back of her neck before he whispered. "I know how to make you feel better."_

"_Mmmm…" Emily leaned back against him. "I like the sound of that."_

_Ian wasted no time in getting her upstairs to his bedroom. "I've got some massage oil in the closet here. I'll be right with you, love."_

_Emily stripped off her shirt and bra, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor. She lay down on her stomach, making sure that her ample cleavage was the first thing he saw when he entered the room._

"_Now that's a sight I wouldn't mind be greeted by more often," Ian said appreciatively when he returned to the bedroom._

_She laughed. "We'll see about that."_

_The bed shifted with his weight as he climbed on over her. His legs were pressed firmly against her hips as he straddled her. Her stomach flipped when she felt his hands on her back. They were larger and rougher than most of the hands that had caressed her skin. Her heart was racing and her skin broke out in goose bumps. This response didn't go unnoticed.  
><em>

"_Feels good?" Ian asked, softly running his finger along her back._

"_Mmmm…feels wonderful so far," she moaned. He increased the pressure of his massage and she accordingly increased her appreciation. "Oh, yeah, right there. Ohhhh…"_

Men are so easy. She couldn't take credit for the idea though. That was all Sean's doing.

"_Believe me, no red-blooded Irishman is going to turn down a lass who's already lying topless in his bed," he assured her._

"_Really?" Emily laughed. "Men are that easy?" _

"_I'm sure the ladies are, too, Emmy, but you're too afraid to be brazen enough to pull it off when it matters." Sean was the only member of the team that knew that Emily was a lesbian._

_She had been worried about the fact that this assignment hinged on her seduction skills since her personal life was a testament to a near-complete lack thereof. Sean was right of course; Emily had all the skills of manipulating her voice and her body movements to maximize flirtation, but these were skills that were never exploited when the flirting was real. But once Ian was greeted by the sight of her half-naked body, Emily had him._

"Is this okay?"

"Mm hmm." Emily didn't trust herself to say much more than that. The softness of JJ's skin against her own was making her dangerously close to breaking every rule she or her mother had ever instituted.

"Good. Is it okay if I run up to your bathroom and grab your lotion?" JJ asked.

"Mmm, it's okay. I can do it," Emily told her. Even though she'd done a quick job of straightening up her room, she wasn't comfortable with the notion that JJ would be rooting around her things.

"Do you want to stay upstairs and you can get your massage lying down?" JJ asked.

Trying to appear indifferent proved harder than Emily thought it would. She shrugged awkwardly and said too loudly, "whatever you think is best."

"Definitely lying down," JJ said, turning to head up the stairs before Emily could say or do anything else.

Emily hurried up the stairs behind her and stopped in the bathroom, grabbing the first bottle of lotion she saw.

"I'll turn around and you can take your shirt off and lie on your stomach over here," JJ said patting the foot of Emily's bed.

Sean's words echoed in her head. A topless woman moaning appreciatively at your touch _was_ difficult to resist. Emily felt her cheeks flush at the thought and was certain that JJ saw that before she turned around.

Emily quickly shimmied out of her shirt and removed her bra. She would have to go past JJ's eye line to put her clothes in the hamper so she kicked them under her bed. She lay down on the bed and made sure that absolutely everything that should be covered was.

"Okay," she said softly. Her only hope was that the feeling as though the pounding of her heart was reverberating through her entire body wasn't something that JJ would be able to pick up on.

It seemed to take forever from the time that she heard JJ squirt the lotion into her hands until she felt JJ's hands on her skin. She sighed when she realized that it had taken so long because JJ had obviously warmed the lotion up in her hands.

"Wow, Em, your shoulders are so tight. And I can feel that knot in your neck that's been making you move like a robot all day," JJ said after working for a few minutes.

Emily closed her eyes and let herself relax into JJ's touch, trying to appreciate the massage for what it was. "That feels great."

"Good, I'm glad," JJ said, changing the tempo of the massage. "Just relax, and if you fall asleep, I promise I'll wake you when I'm done, so you don't end up with the same issue tomorrow."

#

"Em. Emily." She heard her name being called and realized that it must be time for dinner.

"Make sure the chicken is crispy," she muttered.

"I didn't know that you talked in your sleep."

"What?" Sleep? Talking? Emily was confused. "What?"

"Emily." The voice was loud and firm. "Wake up."

She blinked her eyes and saw JJ sitting on her bed, positioned with her hand ready to flick Emily in the forehead. _Massage. JJ._

"Oh shit, I fell asleep," Emily said sitting up. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't until she saw JJ staring at her that she realized that she'd taken off her shirt and bra for the massage. Her cheeks flushed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Where did you leave your shirt?" JJ asked, looking around for it. Or if nothing else, trying to look anywhere except at Emily.

"I shoved it under the bed," Emily admitted. She got up and grabbed a t-shirt from one of her drawers and threw it on. "I'm sorry I fell asleep," she repeated.

"It's okay," JJ said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I could tell that your breathing changed, so I stopped pretty much after that. You were only out for about five minutes.

"I would've let you sleep longer," she added. "But I figured it would weird you out to be asleep for too long with me just running amok in your house."

Emily smiled. "I'm not sure there's much more for you explore – you've already gone through my books, movies, music and refrigerator."

"I'm sure there's more to you than your media and your food," JJ told her.

Emily felt her face flush again.

"I never would have taken the ever stoic Agent Prentiss as someone who blushes quite as often as you do."

"It's the curse of having pale skin," Emily said; she'd used the line often enough that it came without thinking. "Do you want to go back downstairs and watch some T.V.?" she asked, eager to change the subject.

"How's about the T.V. in the guest room?" JJ suggested. "We can change into our p.j.'s."

"Sure," Emily said. _Great, we can snuggle under the covers and watch T.V. Sounds perfect._ "I'll be there in a few minutes."

#

"So, do you have a bottle of massage oil just lying around on the off chance someone stops by?" Emily asked.

They had settled into the guest bed and were under the covers. There wasn't much on other than some reruns, so neither of them was paying close attention to the T.V.

JJ smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"Have you had occasion to use it?" Emily asked.

"Of course I have," JJ answered. "Massages happen to be a very nice gateway activity."

Her experience with Ian Doyle had made that point quite clear. "Ah yes, I've heard."

"It doesn't work quite as well when the other person falls asleep though," JJ said quietly. Emily looked up at her and JJ winked.

Emily had no response other than to blink quickly a few times. Should she make a joke? Should she ask for clarification? Should she play along? There were so many retorts and questions making their way around Emily's mind that she completely froze.

JJ shook her head. "I'm just kidding."

"Were you?" The question was out of her mouth before it even fully formed in her mind.

"Am I way off base?" JJ asked.

This was the moment. JJ just laid down her cards. Well, at least most of them. Emily noticed that she managed to keep a few of them close to her chest. Now came the part where she had to decide how much of her own hand Emily would show.

"Not way off," Emily said, still trying to hedge her bets. _Never let someone know how much something means to you. _There were few moments that are more vulnerable than those that happen right before a first kiss.

And that's when it happened. JJ leaned over and kissed Emily gently on the lips. It was a tentative kiss, but it lasted long enough that there was no question about JJ's intentions. JJ's lips were warm, and Emily couldn't help but wonder if JJ found the kiss as amazing as did. Emily parted her lips slightly and felt JJ's tongue slide between them. She heard and felt JJ's moan as she did so. For a few wonderful seconds, Emily managed to stay out of her head and remain present in the situation.

Emily pulled away from the kiss first, not because she wanted it to end, but because she needed to see JJ's face. Her expression was a mixture of excitement and fear, mirroring the same hopefulness and hesitancy that Emily felt.

They would need to talk about this, to set ground rules, and establish expectations. But this wasn't the time for that. Emily leaned in to return the kiss before she could start thinking of the ways she was going to fail to meet those expectations.


	15. 2007: Bridgewater, FL

**A/N:** As always, thanks to everyone who's reading, alerting, and favoriting this story. And an extra big thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave a review; I really appreciate hearing your thoughts and opinions.

The biggest thanks of all goes to _**nikonic**_, my beta extraordinaire.

* * *

><p><strong>2007 – Bridgewater, FL<strong>

"Hey, Derek, wait up," Emily called after him as they were walking down the tarmac.

Morgan slowed down. "What's up?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," she told him. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Morgan said, running his hand over the top of his head. "I shouldn't have snapped at Reid like that, but you know, it's like what Hotch said, this religion stuff can affect you if you let it."

Emily nodded. "Sometimes the religion stuff affects you whether you let it or not."

"I'll be fine, Prentiss," he said, sounding defensive.

"That's not what I meant," Emily explained quickly. "I was referring to religion's ability to mess with _anyone's_ head. It was more a comment on religion than you."

"Sorry, man," Morgan said, putting his hand on her arm. "I feel like everything I've said today has come out wrong. To you, Reid, even Garcia this morning."

"Don't worry about it," Emily assured him. "I know how that feels. But if you want to talk, let me know."

Rossi came up from behind them. "Morgan, we're going to meet Abby Kelton's family at their church."

"Why their church?" Morgan asked. His tone of voice revealed the same hesitancy and annoyance that Emily felt about being in a church.

Rossi just shrugged. "That's what they requested. Besides, it'll give us a chance to interview Father Marks. JJ already made all of the arrangements.

"Prentiss, you're going with Reid and Hotch to the morgue," he added.

Morgan sighed as they walked up to the two black SUVs. "See you on the flip side," he called to Emily as they each got in their separate vehicles.

#

Between the Southern accent and the cigar-chewing detective, Emily couldn't help but feel like she was in the scene from _Silence of the Lambs_ when they found the first body. She half-expected the M.E. to talk about finding a bug cocoon in the victim's throat.

"Evidence suggests that they were fed to her shortly before her death," Dr. Fulton told them, referring to the fingers he had found in Abby Kelton's stomach contents.

Emily's stomach clenched, and she swallowed hard. It was moments like these that she couldn't help but think that if she were in the victim's shoes, she'd be grateful that the whole ordeal would end in her death. _Why would he cut off her fingers and feed them to her?_

When she asked Reid that question in the car ride back to the police station, she expected to hear some explanation about the role of fingers in Greek mythology and how eating fingers symbolized growth. Or something equally esoteric.

"I don't know," Reid told her. "Sometimes the eating of flesh can be incorporated into satanic rituals, but it's usually follows the belief that the one who consumes it obtains the power of the person the flesh belonged to. So it doesn't really make sense to feed someone their own fingers and then kill them.

"Although, did you know that there's a disease called Lesch-Nyhan disease where those afflicted have a tendency toward self-consumption?" Reid added. "Fingers, lips, tongue…"

"And what does that have to do with this case?" Hotch asked. Emily was grateful that he cut off Reid's listing of unfortunate body parts.

"Nothing."

"Then let's focus on the case at hand, shall we?" Hotch phrased it as a question, but both Emily and Reid knew that that it was not up for discussion.

They got to the police station about the same time that Rossi, JJ, and Morgan returned from their meeting with the Keltons and Father Marks.

"You okay?" JJ whispered to Emily while they were standing in the hall.

"Yeah." Emily nodded her head to make her assertion more convincing. It had been a few days since they kissed. Emily had gone into her self-protective mode, which for the most part focused on remaining detached and indifferent. It had helped that JJ was out town for the weekend; it kept them from having too much time to spend together or trying to make excuses for not being together.

"What did you guys learn from the M.E.?" JJ asked.

"Only that this case is even more disturbing than I had previously thought," Emily said shaking her head.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Florida?" JJ asked.

"I gathered that when Morgan asked you how bad the case was and your reply was _Florida_," Emily told her with a smile.

"I wasn't wrong, was I?" JJ said, returning the smile. "Anyway, I've got to go meet with some reporters. You know how everyone loves a good satanic cult story."

Emily nodded, not envying JJ's job. "I wouldn't mention the fingers."

"The what?" JJ looked confused and Emily realized that she hadn't been privy to that information.

"Never mind," Emily said. She saw Rossi and Morgan head into conference room. "I should get in there, but I'll see you when you get back."

When she got into the conference room, Morgan and Rossi were already looking over the notes they'd taken at the M.E.'s office.

"Fingers?" Morgan asked her. She nodded, not able to stop the grimace from showing on her face.

"The fingers are a message," Rossi said after convincing Emily that, while the concept of forcing one to eat their own fingers is sadistic, there's clearly more to this UnSub than simply being able to label him a sadist.

"What the hell is the message?" Morgan asked.

"She's not my first," Hotch answered, as he came into the room. "None of the fingers found in Abby Kelton's stomach were hers, and six of them were index fingers."

_Ew. _Emily knew that intellectually she needed to process that information and try to make sense of it, but all she could think about was just how disturbing that was.

"Excuse me." She stood up from the table and went into the restroom to wash her face with some cold water. She needed to focus on the case and take in the information without actually thinking about it or analyzing it too far. She took a few deep breaths and shook her head as though she would be able to physically dislodge the thoughts from her mind. _If only it were that easy, _she thought to herself.

#

Emily flopped onto the mattress. She'd just made four phone calls to three families explaining that there was sufficient evidence to believe that their daughter/sister/girlfriend fell victim to a satanic serial killer. By time she told the last family about the fingers as the evidence that linked their loved one to the murderer, she could recite the words without gagging at the image.

Morgan briefly spoke with the local police, and the plan was to meet early the following morning to finish the profile. She had an hour to shower and wash off the day before meeting the rest of the team for dinner.

"Based on Garcia's research, she recommends that we just head over to the Chili's for dinner," JJ said when Morgan finally joined the group.

"Surely there's a local spot we can go to," Rossi suggested.

"I thought we were trying to eat locally," Reid added.

JJ shrugged. "Garcia insisted on it."

"Well, I saw that bar-b-que place near the highway," Rossi mentioned.

"I don't really care where we go, as long as there's beer and food," Morgan said.

"I'm going to Chili's," Emily announced. "I remember what happened the last time Garcia steered us away from the local restaurants in favor of a big chain and _someone_ got indignant about it." She looked pointedly at Reid.

JJ grimaced. "Spokane."

Emily nodded. "I'm trusting Garcia on this one. But if you want to support the local economy and try out that unvetted bar-b-que shack, be my guests."

"I'm with Emily," JJ said as she started to walk over to one of the SUVs. "My intestinal tract still hasn't forgiven me for that fried chicken."

"Chili's meets my criteria," Morgan said following her.

Emily had been hoping for a quick, perfunctory meal so she could just head back to the hotel and go to sleep. But everyone seemed to be in a chatty mood so they stayed longer than usual, lingering over their beverages even after the check came.

"Do you think it means something that the UnSub chose six index fingers?" Reid asked.

"Don't." Morgan shook his head.

"Don't what?" Reid asked. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing his thought. "Did you know the index finger represents the planet Jupiter?"

"No. And I'm fairly certain the UnSub didn't either," Emily said wryly. "Maybe he just had a bunch of index fingers leftover."

"Leftover from what?" JJ asked.

"I don't know," Emily said. She looked down at her own hand and an incredibly disturbing, though funny, image came into her mind. "Maybe he builds things with them. You know the ring finger and index finger are roughly the same size, so maybe he just had leftovers."

She saw Morgan looking at her incredulously. "You scare me," he told her with the tone of voice that was usually reserved for Reid.

Emily shrugged. "I think it's a more plausible explanation than being based on the symbolism of Jupiter versus Venus."

"Actually, the ring finger is represented by Apollo," Reid corrected.

"_I_ scare you?" Emily asked, raising her eyebrows.

JJ and Rossi laughed, and Reid just looked confused.

"On that note, we should turn in; I have a feeling we're going to have a long day tomorrow," Rossi said, putting his napkin down next to his plate.

It didn't take much convince the rest of the team to call it a night.

#

When they got off the elevator, Emily felt JJ's fingers rub against her shirtsleeve. When she looked over, JJ gestured to her right with her chin. Emily nodded slightly and whispered, "Give me a few minutes."

Emily went into her own room; she needed some time to herself before going over to JJ's room. She wandered around her room in circles, trying to think of a way to not overthink the situation.

_As their kiss deepened, Emily felt JJ's hands make their way up to her neck. JJ's thumb brushed against her earlobe causing her moan softly._

"_Wow, only fourteen seconds into this and I've already found your weak spot," JJ said, running her thumb up and down her earlobe._

"_Mmmm…" was the only response Emily was capable of making as JJ leaned in and placed a gentle kiss right where her thumb had been._

_As JJ's other hand began to play with the hem of her shirt, Emily pulled back, trying to regain control. Suddenly there were so many questions that tumbled into her mind._

_Was JJ a lesbian? Bisexual? Curious? Drunk? Was this a one-time thing?_

_Given that they'd only had a beer each with dinner, Emily was fairly convinced that this was not likely the result of drunken debauchery. But what did JJ want? What did _she_ want? _

"_I, uh, so…um…well," Emily stammered._

"_Did they teach you to talk like that during your elocution courses growing up?" JJ asked._

"_Elocution classes? I grew up overseas, not in the nineteenth century," Emily joked. _

_JJ shifted from her position next to Emily to straddling her lap. She leaned in and kissed a path along Emily's neck and collarbone, her warm lips taking their time at each point._

_Emily's fingers ran along the soft skin that was exposed between JJ's shirt and the waistband of her pajama pants. There was a physical, magnetic force trying to pull Emily's fingers upwards, but she fought against it. There were still cards that they each held in their hands. Because even though JJ proudly laid down her I-want-to-kiss you card, the ones with her true intentions were still held close to her chest._

"_Your skin is so soft," JJ whispered, her breath tickling Emily's ear and sending goose bumps down the right side of her body. "I always forget how much softer women are."_

That was one of Emily's many questions answered that night. Yes, JJ had been with women before and no, not exclusively. That was the position that Emily had decided to take as well. Emily was caught between wanting to discuss things and just wanting to see how things would progress. After all, how could she demand that JJ state her intentions and desires when Emily wasn't certain of her own?

"_I hate to cut this short, but I'm exhausted," Emily told her._

"_Of course," JJ said. She looked at Emily expectantly, obviously putting the sleep arrangement decision squarely in Emily's court. _

"_I, uh, think it's probably better if I head to my bedroom," Emily said. "Because if I stay here, there's no way I'm going to actually fall asleep."_

_JJ nodded, and Emily searched her face for signs of disappointment or hurt. She was relieved to not see any of that. _

To Emily, sleeping with someone was an incredibly intimate act, more so than having sex. In the past, Emily had used sex as a weapon, a tool, and even a shield. She was still able to maintain control; orgasms could be suppressed, faked, or exaggerated.

Sleeping with someone was ineffably different. Perhaps it was different simply because Emily _needed_ it to be. It was like Julia Roberts's character's rule about no kissing in _Pretty Woman_; she needed _something_ that she could control. It was the final piece of Emily Prentiss that Lauren Reynolds held on to, and she cried the night she gave it away.

Of course, she didn't tell JJ that and was grateful that JJ didn't push the matter. After all, it wasn't _unreasonable_ to sleep separately.

She stopped her pacing and before her mind could talk her out of it, she grabbed her key off the dresser and walked across the hall to JJ's room.

"Hey," JJ said, greeting her with a big smile. She stepped aside to let Emily into her room. As soon as the door clicked shut, JJ's hands were on Emily's cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss.

Yet another question answered: no, Wednesday night was not just a one-time thing.

JJ's lips were soft and warm and everything Emily remembered them to be. She snaked her arm around JJ's waist, trying to pull her in closer. Her breath hitched as JJ's body pressed against hers, and she allowed her fingers to slowly stroke JJ's side.

"Your fingers are so soft, so warm," JJ whispered, their lips still touching.

"It's been a while since you've been with another woman, hasn't it?" Emily asked, pulling a little farther away, but keeping her hands on JJ's hips.

"Why do you say that?" JJ asked, taking one of Emily's hands and pulling her over to the bed.

Emily shrugged. "Just your use of the word _soft_. To me, that's the difference between men and women. That, and right here," Emily said resuming her stroking of JJ's skin. Her hand was at that curve where a woman's waist transitions to her hip. In Emily's opinion, _the curve_ was one of the quintessential differences between men and women and was undoubtedly one of the sexiest parts of a woman's body.

JJ licked her lips and looked at Emily with the same expression she had that night on the plane home from Denver. That expression had the same power to make Emily's heart beat faster as it did a few months ago.

Emily's breath hitched as JJ leaned in closer. "You're right, it's been a long time," she whispered.

"Then I'll just have to remind you of what you've been missing," Emily whispered back. She let her teeth ghost over JJ's earlobe and was rewarded with a shudder.

As she kissed her way along JJ's collarbone, she reminded herself of what _she_ had been missing. It had been _years_ since Emily last had the opportunity to kiss someone she cared about. Certainly none of the one-night stands she had while in St. Louis. Most definitely not Ian Doyle.

Emily took her time, savoring every detail, from the saltiness of JJ's skin to the faint fragrance of vanilla. Her lips tingled as they travelled along JJ's neck and for a brief moment, Emily let the feelings excitement and attraction wash over her.

She pulled back slightly and couldn't help the extra half-second she spent staring at the beautiful woman in her arms. She pressed her lips against the half-smile on JJ's face. The kiss deepened instantly and Emily felt like her whole body was on fire. The piece of herself that she had locked away when she was with Doyle began to escape from its carefully constructed compartment.

As the kiss intensified, Emily felt like she needed even more contact with JJ and her hands began to wander higher.

"Uh-uh," JJ said as she broke off the kiss. "You've got to at least buy me dinner first."

JJ's smile was a little too big and her voice was a little too light for Emily to believe that she was entirely kidding.

"You're on," Emily said, playing along. "When we get back to D.C., for sure. But right now I'm going to head back to my room." She stood up, quickly trying to recompartmentalize the feelings that had come loose during their kiss.

"I didn't mean that you had to stop completely." JJ reached up and grabbed her hand.

Emily shook her head. "I know, I'm just tired. Besides, if they haven't found Tracy Lambert by tomorrow, I imagine we're going to have a search to coordinate."

_Always be the one to walk away first; the last to leave always has the most to lose._

Of course, her mother had been referring to international diplomacy and political compromise, but Emily felt that the advice applied to most situations.

"Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow," JJ said, walking over to the door to let Emily out. She gave her one last kiss before saying good night.

#

"I'm starving," JJ commented.

They had been out at the search site for almost four hours. It was hot, humid, and altogether uncomfortable.

"There are sandwiches in the cooler in the back of the SUV," Emily told her. "Rossi and I picked some up on the way here. We didn't know there would be lunch provided," she added, looking over at where one of the volunteers had set up some pots of soup and chili.

"Oh, you don't know how happy I am to hear that," JJ said. "I was just thinking that it is too damn hot for chili."

"I agree," Morgan said, coming up from behind them. "Did I hear something about sandwiches?"

Emily nodded and gestured over to the SUV. "In the cooler in the back. They even had ham and cheddar."

"You have no idea how happy you just made me," Morgan told her. Actually, Emily had a pretty good idea, knowing Morgan's almost obsessional love for that combination. She's had to sit through more than one rant about the inappropriate pairing of ham and Swiss.

"That makes two of us," JJ whispered. "If I have to hear one more time that Swiss cheese has no business being combined with ham, I might just have to unholster my gun."

Emily laughed. "I was just thinking the same thing. You want your usual?"

JJ nodded, and Emily followed Morgan over to where the sandwiches were.

"You okay?" she asked Morgan. "You seem a little off. I mean, first with Garcia. And now it seems like there something going on with you, Rossi, and Father Marks."

"Why? Did he say something?" Morgan asked, ignoring her question. Emily wasn't sure which _he_ Morgan was referring to.

"I've just noticed some tension," Emily told him.

"Did you grow up going to church?" Morgan asked.

Emily nodded. She tried to not think about the last time she went to church.

"But you don't go now?" he clarified.

Emily shook her head.

"Why did you stop?"

Emily wasn't sure when this conversation became about her and her religious beliefs, but she was sure that she didn't want to continue to it that way.

"It's complicated," she said, hoping to put an end to this line of questioning. "Certainly too complicated to discuss here and now."

Morgan nodded. "Father Marks makes me feel like I'm fourteen again and being castigated for not going to Sunday services."

Emily nodded her understanding, but before she could say anything else, she heard JJ called to her. "Geez, Prentiss are you _making_ the sandwich? Waiting for the bread to rise?" Emily over to her and saw that she was standing with her hands planted firmly and petulantly on her hips.

"Maybe when we get home we can find absolution over a couple of beers," Emily said, gesturing over to JJ.

Morgan smiled broadly. "You're on, Princess."

Emily walked back to a waiting JJ and handed her the turkey sandwich. "Sorry."

"What were you and Morgan talking about?" JJ asked.

"He was insulting your choice of mustard on the turkey sandwich instead of mayo," Emily lied. "I was defending you."

They were about halfway through their sandwiches when one of the searchers emerged from the woods, frantic with worry. His wife had disappeared during the search.

Emily looked down at the uneaten half of her sandwich and sighed. JJ was right; Florida was bad.

#

She didn't intend to eavesdrop on Morgan and Rossi's conversation, but Emily couldn't help but agree with Morgan. It did appear that Feylin's life was laid out as a series of unfortunate coincidences. Unfortunate for his victims, that is. Emily wished she hadn't finished her book on the ride to Florida; she desperately wanted something to take her mind off of the last seventy-two hours.

"Penny for your thoughts," JJ said softly as she sat down in the empty neat next to Emily. "Or at least I'll trade you a cup of coffee."

Emily smiled as she took the mug. "I'm actually trying to wipe the last seventy-two hours from my mind."

"Well, before you complete your mindwipe, I just want to say thanks," JJ told her.

"For what?"

"Remember that bar-b-que shack near the hotel? The one you refused to eat at?" Emily nodded. "Well, that was Feylin's place."

Emily's eyes widened as JJ continued. "It makes my stomach hurt to think about eating there."

"Or having eaten the chili at the search," Emily added.

"Then I guess I owe you a double thanks," JJ told her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Maybe tomorrow night I can take you to dinner and show you my appreciation."

"Dinner sounds great, as does your appreciation," Emily said. "But if you ever try to link anything back to the last three days, that's just going to ruin it."

JJ smiled. "Fair enough."

Emily yawned and stretched out. "I _cannot_ wait to take a bath. I need to wash this week off of me."

JJ groaned. "Don't mention that. I still have a two foot stack of files to go through before I go home."

"Really? Surely it can wait," Emily said.

"I'm hoping to be able to leave early Friday afternoon to head out of town, so it would be nice to get things done before then," JJ answered.

"Again? Didn't you go out of town last weekend?"

Emily couldn't figure out JJ's expression, but she got a strange feeling in her chest when JJ shrugged. She nodded absentmindedly, even though it wasn't really an appropriate response. They lapsed into a semi-comfortable silence, and the next thing Emily knew she was being woken up by JJ's peristent nudging and whispering.

The team split up at the airstrip, with JJ and Hotch heading back to the office and the rest of them going straight to the parking garage.

As soon as Emily got home, she started filling her tub with hot water. She'd only been in the tub a few minutes when her phone rang. She thought briefly about answering it, but decided against it. It wasn't until the phone rang for the third time that Emily reluctantly pulled herself out of the tub and grabbed her robe.

Her phone started to ring again and she answered it immediately.

"Em?"

It was one syllable, but Emily could hear the emotion in JJ's voice.

"What's going on, JJ?" Emily asked as a feeling of unease settled into her chest.

"It's Penelope." JJ's voice cracked. "She's been shot."

Emily's mouth went dry, and her heart was pounding in her ears.

"Hotch and I are heading there now," JJ said. "She's at Memorial. I'll text you when I know where we'll be."

Emily shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. Garcia has been shot. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Before she had even finished the sentence, Emily was already walking over to her closet to grab her clothes.

_It's Penelope; she's been shot._ The sentence repeated over and over in her mind as she threw on a suit and headed out the door.

_It's Penelope; she's been shot._


	16. 2007, Washington DC

**A/N: **I know it's been a while since the last chapter was posted and I hope you think this one is worth the wait. _Penelope_ is one of my favorite episodes and I hope that I was able to do it justice. You'll find some random references, quotes, and lyrics in this chapter; all credits are at the end.

As always, thanks to all those who read, review, alert, and favorite.

* * *

><p><strong>2007: Washington, D.C.<strong>

_It's Penelope; she's been shot._

"Have you heard anything?" Emily asked Rossi as they rode together in the elevator to the surgical floor.

He shook his head. "Hotch called me and I immediately came here. You?"

"Same with me, except replace Hotch with JJ."

As soon as the elevator doors opened, they followed the signs over to the surgical waiting area and found JJ, Hotch, and Reid already there.

"What do we know?" Rossi asked.

"Police think it was a botched robbery," Hotch answered.

_Botched robbery?_ Emily thought as she walked over to where JJ was standing. Their eyes met and there was no mistaking the pain and fear in JJ's eyes. She took a half-step closer to the blonde, wanting to offer her some sort of comfort.

"I can't just stand here," JJ said. "I'm going to see if they can tell me anything." Before Emily could offer to accompany her, she abruptly turned and walked over to the nursing station.

A few minutes later JJ returned looking defeated. "They can't give me an update."

Emily watched as she strode past the team and went straight to the sitting area. She waited a few moments to give JJ some time to herself before sitting down next to her. She wanted to be able to assure JJ that everything was going to be okay, that Garcia was going to be okay, that this was some random occurrence. But she couldn't. Because she didn't know if any of those things were true. JJ didn't need to be placated by empty promises over which neither of them had any control.

JJ was sitting with her chin in her hand, staring off into space. Emily reached over and took JJ's hand. JJ looked over at Emily, her eyes darted to their joined hands and then widened slightly.

Emily's heart sank as she realized JJ's implication. She let go of her hand immediately.

"I was only offering my comfort," she whispered. "As a friend."

JJ blinked a few times and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, retaking Emily's hand. "I'm just…I don't know, I feel like I'm going to go out of my mind."

"It's okay," Emily reassured her.

JJ leaned over and put her head on Emily's shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do if she's not okay."

Emily just squeezed her hand and tried to focus on JJ instead of her own thoughts.

#

Emily watched JJ's head nod for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. She got up from her desk and walked over to the table where JJ was working.

"You want to go grab some dinner?" she asked.

JJ shook her head. "We just had lunch a few hours ago."

"If by 'a few' you mean six, then yeah, it was a few hours ago." Emily sat down on the edge of the table. "You need to get out of here: eat, sleep, shower, whatever."

"I can't. We've barely made a dent in this case," JJ insisted.

"Jen, you've been reading the same page for the last half hour," Emily told her. As JJ started to protest, Emily continued, "I also happen to know that you haven't slept in almost two days, you haven't been home in almost a week, and you've been wearing the same clothes since we left Florida."

"She's right, JJ, you should go home, get some rest, and I don't want to see you back in the office before ten tomorrow morning," Hotch said, coming up to them. "Actually, make it eleven. That way you can go to the hospital before coming in."

"But…"

"No buts," Hotch cut her off. "Don't make me call Anderson over and have him carry you to your car."

"Come on, Jayje, let's go," Emily said, collecting and organizing the paperwork that was laid out all over the table.

It looked as though JJ was about to try to protest one more time when she suddenly yawned. "Okay, fine," she said begrudgingly. "Let's go."

"I'm on two," JJ said as they approached the garage.

"I'm on three," Emily told her. "But I can walk you to your car."

"Actually, I don't think I want to be alone right now." JJ was biting the inside of cheek and she looked like she was ready to break down.

Emily nodded. "Let's get some takeout and go back to your place. We can swing by my condo tomorrow morning since it's close to Memorial.

"Let's take my car; you look dead on your feet," she added.

"You've been awake just as long as I have, you know," JJ pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm still running on the adrenaline of taking care of you, whereas I think Hotch and I were pretty effective in killing your buzz." She took JJ's hand as they climbed the last flight of stairs.

#

"There's something magical about the combination of cheese and carbs that is just so comforting," JJ said as she sat back on the couch. "I wonder why that is."

"I'm sure we could call Reid and ask him," Emily said. "Or I could spout something about the upregulation of endorphins in response to the combination of carbohydrates and renin."

"You're cute when you talk all erudite," JJ said. She smiled at Emily, who almost choked on the sip of water she had just taken. "Let's just shove the leftovers in the fridge and then I need to shower. I feel like I should be a more gracious host and offer you the first shower, but honestly, I'm starting to itch."

Emily insisted it was fine, and JJ hurried upstairs to her bedroom. While sitting alone in JJ's living room, Emily suddenly felt the adrenaline that had been carrying her through the last day dissipate. Her eyelids grew heavy and instead of fighting it, she just let her eyes flutter closed.

"Em." JJ's voice startled her awake.

She turned and saw the blonde standing there, looking unfortunately gorgeous in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, her hair still tangled from being towel dried.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were asleep," JJ apologized.

"I didn't either, so don't worry about it." Emily stood up from the couch and stretched.

"I left you towels on the vanity and feel free to use whatever bath products suit your fancy. I laid out a toothbrush for you, too. It's the red one, and you can use the cup next to it," JJ explained. "And I'll put out some night clothes on my bed so you'll have them when you're done."

"Thanks." Emily followed the path JJ had taken when she had disappeared after dinner. She found JJ's bedroom on the right and saw that the bathroom was attached.

Since the moment that Emily had taken JJ's hand in hers last night, her only focus for the last twenty hours has been on supporting JJ and trying to catch the man who shot Garcia. In order to maintain that focus, she hadn't allowed the reality of what happened to penetrate her thoughts. Now that she stood under the hot water of the shower, all the barriers she had set up melted away and her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes.

She leaned against the wall and allowed the sobs to overtake her. She couldn't stand the idea of losing another co-worker, another friend. Just as quickly as they came the sobs ended, and Emily finished her shower in a perfunctory manner.

The nightclothes that JJ had laid out were identical to the ones that JJ had on. The problem was that Emily was two inches taller and at least a cup size larger than the blonde, so on her, instead of being casual and comfortable, the boxers and t-shirt looked indecent.

"JJ? Can you come here?" she called.

When JJ got to the door, her eyes bugged out in a way that confirmed Emily's opinion of the outfit.

"These look like a porno's version of comfortable pajamas," Emily told her.

JJ shrugged and claimed that she didn't know what Emily was talking about; they looked fine to her. Emphasis on _fine._ Emily just rolled her eyes.

"Hold on," JJ said giggling as she went through one of her drawers. She pulled out an old Penn State T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants and left the room so Emily could change.

"Much better," Emily said as she walked back to the living room.

"That's _your_ opinion," JJ retorted.

"_Ice Road Truckers_?" Emily asked when she saw what was on.

"You can't have that much disdain in your voice for a show that you were able to identify in less than three seconds," JJ told her. She patted the couch next to her. "I just needed something mindless so that I wouldn't sit here and wallow."

"Not disdain," Emily explained. "More like disbelief, with a little amusement on the side."

She sat down on the couch next to JJ, who immediately leaned in and put her head on Emily's shoulder. Emily took the hint and put her arm around JJ. After a few moments of watching two semis make their way across a frozen lake, JJ sighed and scooted down so that her head rested on Emily's lap, and Emily started running her fingers through her hair.

After another twenty minutes of _will they-be-able-to-make-it-across? _drama on the TV, Emily asked JJ if she wanted to change the channel. The only response she got was the continued slow breathing that was the telltale sign that JJ had fallen asleep. It was almost nine o'clock, and Emily had to admit that she was ready for bed, too.

"JJ," she said softly. "Wake up, sweetie."

"Whah?" came JJ's confused reply.

"You're falling asleep; we should just go to bed," Emily said.

"Hmm, okay." When JJ sat up, Emily could see that her eyes were still half-closed.

Emily stood up, helping JJ up, too. As she walked her into her bedroom, Emily froze when she realized that JJ lived in a one bedroom apartment. With one bed.

"What?" JJ asked.

"I, uh, was just wondering where you keep your extra sheets and pillows."

JJ looked confused. "You don't want to sleep with me? Is it because of the waiting room?"

"What?" Emily realized that JJ must have been referring to when she had recoiled at Emily's hand-holding earlier in the day. "No, it's nothing like that. It isn't personal. I just, well, I don't really sleep that well when I sleep with someone new."

"You sleep better on a couch?" JJ asked incredulously.

Emily bit her bottom lip, trying to think of what to say. She was grateful when JJ let her off the hook.

"Well, you're in luck, the couch in the office folds out to a bed," she told her. "It'll take me like, two seconds to set it up. Why don't you just go to my room and wait. I mean, we can still hang out a little. I'm feeling unfortunately awake at the moment."

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Positive. Now go," JJ commanded; she had already gotten out sheets, a blanket, and a pillow from the linen closet.

She hadn't exaggerated when she said it would take only seconds to set up because Emily had barely gotten settled on JJ's bed before she returned.

"So, if we had never kissed, would you sleep with me?" JJ asked, as she snuggled in next to Emily. She made a funny face. "I think that came out wrong. But you know what I mean."

"Probably," Emily told her honestly.

"Even if you had feelings for me?" JJ pressed.

"Probably not," she clarified.

JJ nodded as though she were processing those answers, and Emily tried to think of a way to change the subject.

"So, um, tomorrow…I figure if we leave by seven, we'll have plenty of time to go to my place and the hospital and be back at the office by eleven," she said.

"You're trying to change the subject, aren't you?" JJ asked.

Emily let out a shaky breath. "I just don't want to start running down a list of hypothetical situations in which I would or would not sleep with you."

"I didn't mean it like that," JJ insisted. "I just meant…never mind…"

Emily held up her hand. "It's fine. I'm tired, you're tired, and it's just not the right time to try to go too deeply into anything. So maybe just a good night kiss and the next thing you know, it'll be a good morning kiss."

JJ smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. "Perhaps a _special_ good night kiss?"

Before Emily could answer, JJ's lips were on hers with her tongue already asking permission to enter. Emily moaned as JJ's tongue danced with her own; it was a slow and sensual dance. She felt JJ's breaths quicken, but their languid pace remained the same. Emily was so lost in the comfort of their connection that JJ pulled away first.

"Mmm…" JJ hummed. "That makes me look forward to our good morning kiss."

"Me too," Emily agreed.

"Thanks for coming over. And helping me forget for a little while," JJ said.

Emily heard the catch in her voice, and as horrible as it made her feel, she really didn't want to get sucked into a weeping fest over Garcia. She wanted to get to sleep so that they would both be sharp tomorrow and put the pieces to catch this James Colby Baylor.

"Good night, Jayje," Emily said, placing a light kiss on her lips. "You know where to find me if you need anything."

"As the hostess, isn't that my line?" JJ asked.

"I'll let you have it," Emily said with a smile as she got off of JJ's bed and headed across the hall.

She had just settled in under the covers when suddenly she heard footsteps.

"I figure that since we're at my place, it should actually be _me_ tucking _you_ in rather than the other way around," JJ said. She leaned over and kissed Emily on the forehead. "Sleep well, Em." She gave her one last kiss on the lips before walking back to her room.

Emily wanted to savor the tingling that remained where JJ had touched, but before any coherent thoughts could even be formed, Emily was already fast asleep.

#

When Emily awoke, the first thing she noticed was the smell of coffee that permeated the apartment. She glanced at the clock and saw it was six. If not for her own internal clock that had deemed six am as the most appropriate wake-up time, Emily could have had another thirty minutes to sleep.

But with the coffee ready, she figured JJ must already be up, so she was surprised to discover that the blonde was still fast asleep in her bed. _Programmable coffee maker, of course_, Emily thought. She stood in the middle of the hallway, trying to decide what to do.

She couldn't help but notice that JJ slept on only one side of her bed. Emily, on the other hand, managed to take up as much space on a queen-sized mattress as she could. The song _Lengthwise_ by Phish had come out her senior year of college and had become her mantra as she tried to console herself about climbing solo into the bed she had once shared with Sophie.

_When you're there, I sleep lengthwise  
>And when you're gone<br>I sleep diagonal in my bed_

Since then, sleep position was another way that she was able to separate herself from her cover identities. Kathryn Pennington and Bianca Moretti both slept lengthwise, while Lauren Reynolds slept intertwined with Ian Doyle. Emily Prentiss, on the other hand, slept diagonally with her legs and arms splayed out. Sleeping diagonally meant freedom and independence.

But JJ's neat and compact sleeping position made it easy for Emily to sneak into her room, climb into her bed, and lie next to her as the big spoon.

"You're lucky I saw you coming into my room," JJ whispered. "Otherwise you would have gotten a fist in your nose and a knee in your groin."

"Duly noted," Emily said, wrapped her arm around JJ's midsection. She absent-mindedly started stroking the patch of skin where her hand had come to rest.

"I really need to come up adjectives other than soft and warm, but those two always come to mind every time you touch me," JJ told her.

"You make me sound like an afghan blanket," Emily said. "And I'm not so sure that's a good thing."

"Right now it's a great thing," JJ assured her. "You make me feel safe. I know that without you in Georgia, I would've gone absolutely out of my mind.

"Same with now. Your support is helping me stay sane through all of this," she finished.

Emily was uncomfortable with the emotion behind JJ's words. "So I'm a blanket and a brassiere," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, you're a beautiful and caring woman," JJ said, rolling over to face her. "And I'm just saying that I'm lucky to have you in my life.

"And my bed," she added, pulling Emily in for a kiss.

"We should get ready," Emily told her. JJ's sigh told her that she had figured out Emily's ploy. Emily sighed in response, equally frustrated with her typical avoidance of any compliments and heartfelt sentiments directed at her.

#

Garcia's eyes were closed when she and JJ walked into her hospital room. They had just met Morgan in the hall who assured them that Garcia had been awake just a few minutes ago.

"Pen?" JJ asked softly.

"Is that my kitten?" Garcia asked opening her eyes. She first looked at JJ and then at Emily. "Caboodle," she added.

Emily didn't understand what Garcia meant by that, but assumed it was some inside joke between Garcia and JJ.

"What?" JJ asked.

_Or not_, she thought.

"Kit and caboodle," Garcia repeated, giggling. "Kitten caboodle. It's funny because it's true."

"She's stoned," JJ said in a stage whisper.

"I don't know; it's not like she doesn't come up with random greetings while she's _not_ under the influence. Two weeks ago she answered the phone by quoting Poe's _The Raven_," Emily replied. "She wasn't stoned then. Or were you?"

"It was a perfectly good greeting because A – it_ was_ midnight, B – it was dreary, three – I _was _nearly napping when there came a tapping, well a ringing, and fourthly – _you_ have black hair," Garcia said.

"You are the raven," JJ added.

"They are the eggmen," Garcia responded, gesturing to Reid and Morgan who were standing at the nurses' station talking with the surgeon. "I am the walrus," she announced, pointing exaggeratedly at herself.

"Goo goo g'joob," Emily added, groaning inwardly as she knew that she had just ensured that she'd have that song running through her head for the rest of the day.

Garcia started giggling uncontrollably, and JJ tried in vain to revert back to a normal conversation.

"How are you feeling, Pen?" she asked.

"A bit like Humpty Dumpty," Garcia said.

"Except I don't think that all the king's horses and all the king's men got Humpty high on morphine while they were putting him together again," Emily said, smiling.

"I like her," Garcia said to JJ. She motioned JJ to come closer. "Did we know that she was funny?"

"Yeah, we knew that," JJ assured her.

"Emily the Strange," Garcia said, her voice full of reverence.

JJ looked over at Emily, the confusion written clearly on her face.

Emily shrugged. "It's okay, I sort-of am."

"Emily did not look tired or happy. She looked like she always looks. Strange," Garcia said. "You need a black cat."

"I'll explain in the car," Emily promised JJ, who still looked nonplussed at the direction of the conversation.

They talked a little while longer, and both JJ and Emily took care to avoid mentioning the lack of progress made on the case.

"So, I'm guessing since your visit didn't open with the statement, _we found the sadistic bastard who shot you_, you guys have bupkis," Garcia said, her mood sobering.

"Sorry, Pen," Emily answered. "We're going to head back to the office and see what we can find."

Garcia's words were starting to slur and her eyes were at half-mast. "Go my kittens, solve crime. But before you go, can you try to convince my boys out there to go home? Tell them they're stinky or something."

"I'll go talk with the eggmen," Emily offered, figuring that JJ would want some time alone with Garcia.

After she left the room, she walked over to where Reid and Morgan were sitting in the waiting room.

"Have you guys eaten yet?" she asked, seeing how haggard they both looked.

"Do Jell-O cups count?" Morgan asked.

Emily shook her head. "Not even the red-flavored ones."

"Technically red is a color, not a flavor," Reid told her.

"What does it mean when it's the color of your eyes?" Emily asked.

"Albinism can be associated with pink-colored irises," Reid started. Morgan poked him in the side.

"I don't think that was the answer she was looking for," Morgan said and then turned to Emily. "_I_ get your point, but I'm not leaving my girl alone."

She nodded. "I'm not going to try to convince you otherwise. I just wanted to offer to buy you breakfast. I hear the cafeteria makes amazing pancakes."

Morgan shrugged.

Emily glanced back at Garcia's room and saw JJ sitting in one of the chairs, holding the hand of their sleeping friend.

"Come on," she pushed. "You've been awake for two-and-a-half days, and my guess is that most of what you've eaten has come from a vending machine."

She saw from their expressions that she'd hit the nail on the head. "Look, JJ is in with Garcia, we'll go to the cafeteria, eat breakfast, and JJ will call us if anything comes up."

Reid was the first to acquiesce and Morgan reluctantly followed suit.

After poking their heads one at a time into Garcia's room, the three of them headed to the cafeteria. They quickly updated each other on the case and once the details were exchanged, Emily tried to keep the conversation going by talking about non-work-related topics. It was proving to be a bigger challenge than she had thought it would be.

"Stop being a premature stop codon," Reid said turning to Morgan after he answered another question with a one-word answer.

Morgan turned to Reid. "A what?"

"A premature stop codon. It's a mutation in a DNA sequence where a nucleotide is changed resulting in a stop signal rather than an amino acid that will continue the protein chain," Reid told him.

Emily couldn't keep the smile off her face. She wondered how much of Morgan's bad mood was due to his twenty-four hour teaching session with Reid.

"Garcia's cousin is coming this afternoon and she's going to stay the night with her. So Hotch wants you both home, resting, sleeping, and not working during that time. I'm going to add showering and eating to that list." Morgan was already starting to protest so she held up her hand.

"Don't kill the messenger," Emily said. "Well, unless you have issue with showering and eating. Those suggestions were all mine.

"Look, I know you want to be doing, doing, doing, but we just got back from a grueling case and now that I have you sitting down and distracted, it's clear you're out of steam," she added.

"You've yawned nine times in the last fourteen minutes," Reid informed him.

"That's probably not helpful," Emily chided gently. "Anyway, I'm going to give either or both of you my keys. My condo is only two metro stops away so I figured after you go home; you can come back and spend the night at my place. That way you can come quickly if something changes."

She looked pointedly at Morgan, who just yawned again. After blinking his eyes a few times, he just nodded contritely.

"Don't think that this means we're going to watch chick flicks and braid each other's hair," he warned.

"I don't care what you and Reid decide to do," Emily responded.

"Where are you going to sleep, princess?" Morgan enquired.

"Well, since we've mostly been working out of Quantico, I was going to stay at JJ's." Emily didn't miss the question hidden behind Morgan's facial expression. "She doesn't really want to be alone right now."

"I don't know," Reid mused. "JJ is the better shot so it would make more sense for you to seek security in being with her."

"I suppose that would be the case if our firearms skills were the only driving force behind our emotions and decisions," Emily said dryly. "Right now, though, I think she's a little freaked out because her best friend was shot two nights ago."

Reid nodded as though he were actually weighing the points.

Emily pulled out her keys, removed her house keys, and handed them to Morgan. "Feel free to take whatever you want from the fridge. And you can sleep in either the bedroom or the guest room. I don't care."

"Thanks," Morgan said quietly as he pocketed Emily's keys. "Let's go back up."

It was definitely more of a statement than a suggestion since Morgan had already pushed back his chair.

"You go," Emily urged. "JJ wanted me to grab her a cup of coffee."

"I, uh, think I'll get some more tea," Reid said. Morgan looked at both of them and shrugged before turning towards the elevators.

"You don't have to redirect all of Morgan's anger at yourself," Emily said softly as she and Reid filled their cups with their hot, caffeinated beverage of choice.

Reid shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Come on, you called him a DNA mutation during breakfast," Emily reminded him. "You're goading him. Morgan reacts with anger first, but you don't need to draw a target on your forehead as a way of helping him contain it."

The way Reid chewed on his bottom lip told Emily that she'd struck a nerve. She paid for their drinks and followed him to the elevator.

"It's okay if he punches a wall or two," she said. "If you want, I can stay here today and you can go back to the office with JJ."

Reid shook his head again. "I'd rather be here. We need to work on the cognitive interview."

"Good luck with that," she said, remembering her conversation with Garcia this morning. "I think you're going to have to talk with her doctor's about lowering her pain meds before you can have any meaningful conversation with her."

Reid gave her a questioning look as they walked over to the surgical ICU waiting room.

"Just this morning she called you and Morgan the eggmen, referred to herself as the walrus, and quoted from Emily the Strange," she listed. "You know, now that I'm saying it out loud, it actually doesn't seem as out of character as it did earlier. Maybe it was the giddiness and giggling that accompanied it."

"Or the slurring of the words," Reid added. "Last night she told me that my fingers were 'delicate ivory sculptures of awesomeness' and called Morgan's arms 'bounding bicep bazoongas'. Since it is generally accepted that the word bazoonga refers to either a woman's breasts or buttocks, I'm not really sure what it has to do with Morgan's arms. But it was clear she meant it as a compliment."

Emily couldn't help but laugh as she pictured Garcia gushing over their various attributes. "I'm sure she did."

"What are you laughing about?" JJ asked as she sat down next to Emily.

"Bazoongas," Emily said, handing her the coffee.

"Thanks," JJ said, giving her a strange look. "To what do I owe this delightful surprise gift?"

Reid gave Emily a look to let her know that she'd been caught in her lie.

"You always get a second cup of tea after breakfast," Emily said. "It was a good excuse to hang back with you. And clearly JJ doesn't mind getting more coffee."

"More coffee is always welcome. But we should get going," JJ said, glancing at her watch. "Garcia is still sleeping. Morgan's in with her, and I wouldn't be surprised if he were asleep by now, too."

When Emily poked her head back into Garcia's room she saw that JJ was right, so she said her good-byes to Reid with strict instructions to share them with their sleeping friends.

#

"So, I gave Morgan my spare keys so he could stay at my place tonight," Emily mentioned as they drove back to the office.

"Does that mean you're requesting another night at Chateau Jareau?" JJ asked.

Emily nodded. "Morgan was pretty clear that our sleepover wouldn't involve chick flicks or hair-braiding, so I don't really see the point in spending the night with him."

"Well, what if those aren't on the activities schedule at the Chateau either?" JJ asked, putting her hand on Emily's, and the way her thumb stroked the back of Emily's hand made her underlying message clear.

Emily pulled her hand away; it was too distracting to have JJ touching her while she was thinking about spending the night at her place again. She tried to think of something to say, but had taken too long to respond to JJ's suggestion; anything she said now would sound forced. She decided it was better to just stay silent.

She concentrated so hard on the task of driving that she didn't even glance over at JJ until she heard a soft sniffle. When she looked over, she saw tears streaming down her friend's cheeks and it was clear that she'd probably been crying for a few minutes.

"Jen?" she asked quietly, reaching her arm across the seat. "What's going on?"

JJ quickly scrambled to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Somebody _shot_ Penelope. They just fucking _shot _her. Do you think it could be related to one of our cases?"

"I don't know," Emily answered honestly. She wanted to say, _no, of course not_, but that would be an empty assurance and JJ would know that.

"_I'm_ the public face of the team._ I'm_ the one who vets the cases. It should have been _me_," JJ whispered.

"No. It shouldn't have been _anyone_. The only person at fault is the one who shot Garcia," Emily corrected.

"She was one of the first friends I made at the Bureau. I mean, it was only natural that we bonded; we were the only women on the team and the only non-profilers. It wasn't until later that I was out in the field with the team, so Garcia and I used to spend an inordinate amount of time in her office during cases."

JJ accepted the Kleenex that Emily handed her and blew her nose.

"I was just thinking how much I care about all of you guys. And I worry constantly when we're all out in the field. But I don't worry about Pen," JJ admitted. "She's safe in her office. After all, the walls at the BAU are far better protection than the Kevlar vests we wear.

"So it just doesn't make sense that someone shot her," JJ added. "She's the one I'm supposed to _not_ worry about."

Emily nodded. What JJ was saying made perfect sense, and it spoke volumes about JJ's relationship to the team members. Being a part of the BAU has been a different experience than with any other team she's worked with. On undercover assignments, it was easy to divide her relationships with her teammates.

It was the undercover assignment that was never supposed to have happened. After all, Emily was an FBI agent, and international work was left to Interpol and the CIA, while the FBI handled stateside issues. But Emily's reputation from the Academy coupled with her fluency in Turkish led to her selection for the position in the joint task force. Emily was moved to Turkey almost immediately in order to start living a cover life, waiting for the cartel to approach her. Since it was her first international assignment, it was only natural that she would have a handler. And to conform to social norms, it made sense that their cover relationship would be that of husband and wife.

_Luca_. Even to this day, she could only think of him by his cover name.

William Atwater was the Interpol agent who had been assigned the role of Luca Aksoy, a wealthy businessman who had too much time and money on his hands. Emily was Leyla, the rebellious socialite who was all too happy to help him spend it.

She tried to convince herself that it was only her cover identity that loved Luca; Emily Prentiss wasn't attracted to men, but Leyla Aksoy was fiercely devoted to her husband. Not only because his money meant that she had moved up several rungs on the socioeconomic ladder, but also because she loved him. Emily had discovered the hard way that it's nearly impossible to live as husband and wife for almost a year without developing some sort of bond that surpasses a simple professional relationship.

So when Luca was killed because it had been discovered that he had ties to law enforcement, some of Leyla's grief bled into Emily's reaction. Playing the part of the grieving widow had been easy, and at the time Emily had prided herself on her acting skills. She refused to admit that she wasn't acting.

Since then, she worked hard at containing her personal feelings in one compartment and her undercover identity's feelings in another. Emily never discussed personal matters with her teammates, but Lauren spent hours talking to Lila Rafferty about her budding relationship with Lawrence Riley. It wasn't until Lauren was dead, that Emily could listen to Tsia talk about Jeremy and their recent engagement. But even Emily couldn't bring herself to go to their wedding.

Being in the BAU made it impossible to maintain those strict compartments because of the unbreakable thread of friendship that ran through the fabric of the team. It was that thread that added levity to the most horrific situations, fostered trust in the field, and allowed the team members to confide in each other. Without that thread, the team would have unraveled years ago. That thread allowed them to cope with Reid's kidnapping, Gideon's departure, and Strauss's betrayal.

It was that thread that made the threat of losing one of their own so painful.

It was that thread that made Emily want to keep drawing new lines in her relationship with JJ. Because if she were to cross the line, she could irreparably unravel everything.

"Em?" JJ's voice brought her out of her thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

"The team," Emily answered; it seemed like a stupid thing to lie about so she answered truthfully.

"What about the team?" JJ sniffled again and Emily handed her another tissue, seeing that the one she had given her earlier was balled up in her hand.

"It's just that this is the first unit I've been in that people care about each other," she admitted. "I mean outside of the office and out of the field."

"Of course we do," JJ said. "Isn't that how it's supposed to work?"

"Was it like this in your unit in El Paso?" Emily asked.

"Well, I don't think that counts. I mean, I was actually coordinating the media liaison for six different units," JJ explained. "It was a much bigger team. Well, teams. And I was sort-of on the periphery of all of them, so it was different."

Emily nodded. "I've been on small teams like this one. But you guys still care more about each other than my other co-workers did."

"What do you mean 'you guys'? You're one of us, Em," JJ said.

Emily swallowed. "Yeah, that's what I meant. It was just a slip."

"You know what Reid says about Freudian slips," JJ responded.

"Does he say something different than the rest of the American public?" Emily asked wryly, trying to deflect JJ's comment. She drove into the garage, relieved that their conversation would have a natural endpoint soon.

"Probably not," JJ said. "But is that really how you feel about the team? That there's an _us_ and a _you_? Because that's not true."

Pulling into a parking space, turning off the car, and gathering her belongings served as the excuse Emily needed to avoid answering JJ's question. "I hope Hotch and Rossi have some new information."

"Me too," JJ sighed.

#

It ended up being another three days until any new information helped to propel the investigation forward. Unfortunately that information ended up being that Garcia was keeping encrypted files on her agency hard drive.

"What do you know about how she was recruited to the FBI?" The arrogance in Agent Fuchs's voice grated on Emily's nerves. She tried to not hate him _just_ because he was from IA, but his pompous disregard for the members of the team was unforgivable.

"What did she do to get on that list?" JJ asked after Agent Fuchs went on about Garcia being on the short list of menacing or potentially useful hackers.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to answer that," he said, his tone of voice clearly indicating that he was done answering their questions.

Despite herself, Emily's interest was piqued. She couldn't help but wonder what secrets everyone on the team held and how long it would take before they were revealed. First it was Morgan's past that was uncovered and now Penelope's. An uneasy feeling settled into Emily's stomach as she thought about the possibility of the team learning the details of her prior life.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it, because only a few minutes later, Rossi poked his head into the workroom.

"There's been a shooting at Garcia's place," he told them. "She and Morgan aren't hurt, but one of the officers was killed."

"Oh god," Emily said, clapping her hand over her mouth. She grabbed her suit jacket and followed JJ and Rossi out the door.

#

Emily was certain that it was not physically possible for her heart to actually beat out of her chest, but it sure felt like that. Morgan was driving the SUV to back to the BAU, and Emily was in the back seat with Penelope. Her heart had started pounding the minute they saw Jason Clark Battle standing in the middle of the bullpen, and it hadn't stopped in the frantic ten minutes since then.

Her phone hadn't even finished its first ring before Emily picked it up. "JJ? What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"He's dead." JJ's voice was flat and quiet. Emily relayed JJ's words to the rest of the team in the SUV.

"What happened?" Reid asked from the front seat.

"Did anyone get hurt?" Penelope asked at the same time.

Emily was about to repeat their questions when JJ said, "it's okay. I heard them." There was a tremble in her voice that made Emily dread what she was going to say next. Had someone else gotten hurt? Killed?

"I'm going to put you on speaker, okay?" Emily asked. When JJ didn't say anything, she pressed the button so that everyone could hear what their friend had to say.

"I shot him. No one else was hurt."

"Oh my god. Are you okay, sunshine?" Penelope asked. The last part was almost unintelligible as she burst into tears.

Emily didn't want JJ to have to hear that so she turned off the speaker. "We're going to be there in about ten minutes, okay?"

"Yeah," JJ whispered. "Can you let me talk to Pen?"

"She's, uh…" Emily paused.

"I know she's crying hysterically," JJ said. "That's why I want to talk to her. And you need to put your arm around her and hold her hand."

Emily handed the phone over to her crying friend and moved over to the middle seat so that she could follow JJ's orders. Garcia didn't say much during the few minutes that she was on the phone with JJ. Emily stopped herself from asking what JJ said to her; mostly she just wanted to get to the BAU so that she could put her arm around JJ and hold her hand, too.

When they got to the bullpen, Emily could see JJ across the room giving a statement to another agent. The blonde looked over at her and Emily subtly pointed at herself and then at JJ, who shook her head in response and held up her hand.

Emily nodded. She turned her attention back to the conversation that Morgan, Reid, and Garcia were having. She watched Garcia's gaze travel over to Agent Fuchs, who was wiping the tears from his face as he spoke to Hotch.

"Oh don't worry about your reinstatement papers, he'll sign them as soon as his hand stops shaking," Emily said, trying to lighten the mood.

Garcia turned to look over at where JJ was sitting and staring off into space. She almost felt like she was intruding as she watched them talk. It looked like Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch were engaged in some sort of intense conversation. So she hung back awkwardly with Reid, just taking in the scene. One of the things Emily liked best about Reid was his disinclination to try to make small talk. He was the easiest person to stand silently next to without feeling the pressure of an ensuing question.

"Hey," she said when JJ approached them.

"Hey," JJ echoed. "They're done taking my statement, and I think I need to get out of here." Emily nodded. "Will you take me home?"

"Uh, sure," Emily assured her. She'd spent every night since the shooting over at JJ's. She still hadn't agreed to sleep with her. She thought about their conversation two nights ago. After three frustrating and stagnant days on the case, she and JJ had found a mutually agreed upon way of relieving the tension.

"_So you'll have sex with me, but you won't sleep in the same bed as me?" JJ asked._

_Emily shrugged. This wasn't the first time she'd been questioned about this issue._

"_We've been over this, Jen. I don't want to talk about it," Emily said firmly as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed._

"_So what is this? What am I to you?" JJ asked._

_Emily turned around. "I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe I would know better if we weren't in the middle of investigating our friend's shooting. Maybe if we'd gone to dinner like we planned. But the truth is that too much shit has gotten in the way since we first kissed for me to be able to answer your questions."_

_JJ nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. These last couple of days have been such a mess. Do you think we just made a mistake?"_

"_Only if that's your take on the situation." Emily wasn't trying to hedge or avoid answering the question. She knew how to detach her feelings from sex, but she wasn't sure that JJ knew how to do the same. Emily's only regret would be if JJ had any._

_JJ shook her head. "Only if that was the only time that's going to happen."_

"_It isn't," Emily said confidently, as she leaned over to kiss JJ goodnight._

Emily thought about that night as she and JJ walked over to her car. She was already dreading another confrontation about the topic of sleeping arrangements. She hadn't even turned the key in the ignition before JJ started sobbing. She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over to the passenger seat, trying to put her hand on JJ's back.

"Don't. Stop. Just. Drive." JJ's words came as big gasps of air. "Now."

"I don't want to drive with you like this," Emily insisted, rubbing comforting circles on the blonde's back.

"I. Need. To. Get. Out. Of. Here," JJ said, still not able to get out more than one word at a time. "Drive."

Emily withdrew her hand and started the car. JJ sobbed as Emily drove wordlessly to her apartment. By time they had gotten to JJ's neighborhood, her sobs had given way uneven breathing. Emily glanced over at her and even in the dark could see how pale JJ looked.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

"No." She pursed her lips together. "Drive faster."

No sooner than Emily put the car in park, JJ jumped out and ran to the front door. Emily gathered their briefcases and followed her inside. As soon as she walked through the door, she understood JJ's urgency. She heard the familiar sounds of retching coming from the powder room. She briefly debated knocking on the door and going to help her friend, but decided against it. If JJ wanted her to come in, she would have said something in the car or at least left the bathroom door open.

Instead, she went into JJ's kitchen and wet one of the clean dishtowels. She also poured a glass of water, rummaged through the pantry and found some crackers, and grabbed a large mixing bowl from the cabinet.

She heard the toilet flush and then there was silence so she knocked on the bathroom door.

"Jen? Can I come in?" she asked softly.

"I'm done," was the weak reply.

Emily opened the door to find JJ sitting on the floor, resting her head against the wall. "I brought you a cool wash rag and a glass of water."

JJ took the towel gratefully and ran it over her face and the back of her neck. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Emily assured her as she sat down next to her and handed her the glass of water. "Just swish and spit. Don't drink too much or you'll upset your stomach all over again.

"I threw up after my first kill, too," Emily told her. She had never admitted that to anyone before.

"He wasn't my first," JJ said defensively. "And _I_ didn't throw up after my first kill."

"I didn't mean it that way," Emily said, regretting her admission. "I didn't mean to imply anything. I just meant that I know it's not easy to kill someone. Even if it is the bastard who shot our friend."

"I know." JJ took a small sip of water after rinsing her mouth out. "I'm just…well…let's just say that it's been a long day."

"That it has," Emily agreed, realizing that it was actually closer to two days. It was almost six in the morning and Emily felt like the adrenaline that had been carrying through the last few hours was starting to wear off.

"Ready to get up?" she asked. When JJ nodded, she stood up and then held out her hand. JJ got up and leaned heavily against Emily as they walked back into the living room.

"Do you think everyone threw up into mixing bowls when they were kids?" JJ asked when she saw it out on the hallway table.

"Apparently at least two of us did," Emily said with a smile. "The way my mother tells it, I was never particularly skilled at making it to the bathroom in time."

JJ tried to return her smile, but Emily saw JJ's posture slacken and it was as though she was watching her energy draining away. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

JJ nodded. "Do you want to shower?"

Emily shook her head. "You can take the first shower. I'm okay."

Given how exhausted she looked when she got out of the bathroom, Emily was surprised that JJ was still awake when she got out of the shower.

"Will you just hold me until I fall asleep?" JJ asked, looking self-conscious about her question.

"Of course," Emily told her, almost feeling guilty when she saw the relief on JJ's face.

She climbed into bed and lay on her back as JJ curled up against her. She wrapped her arm around JJ and slid her hand under her shirt. She rubbed her hand slowly on JJ's back and was rewarded with a deep, satisfied sigh.

"Thanks for being here," JJ said sleepily. "You're the best afghan blanket brassiere anyone could ever want."

"You deserve nothing but the best," Emily said, smiling at the reference to a few days ago.

It wasn't more than a few minutes before Emily felt JJ's breathing slow down and even out. She thought about trying to get out of bed so she could go over to the sofa bed, which had been her sleeping place for the last five days. But she didn't want to take the chance of waking up JJ. She fought to keep her eyes open so that she could extricate herself from JJ after she was certain that she was asleep.

But too little sleep for too many days meant that her usual ability to stay awake and focused under any circumstance was nonexistent. Despite her efforts to the contrary, Emily's eyes closed and she was asleep within moments, her arm still tightly wrapped around JJ.

* * *

><p><em>When you're there, I sleep lengthwise  And when you're gone / I sleep diagonal in my bed,_ lyrics by Phish

"Emily did not look tired or happy. She looked like she always looks. Strange." from _Emily the Strange_, Cosmic Debris

Random references to and lyrics quoted from _I am the Walrus_ by The Beatles


End file.
